


stay or go, it's all the same to me

by necromantiaes



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arya & Gendry travel, Canon Divergent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Romance, Singular POV, Smut, Theon lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2020-07-07 20:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19857232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necromantiaes/pseuds/necromantiaes
Summary: Arya never thought she'd live to see the end of Cersei Lannister or the Night King, yet there she sits. Scarred, bruised, but alive. In the Dragon Pit the future of Westeros is changed forever and a Lady is forced to reassess her priorities. For one, her feelings for a Lord who is very much out of his depth.akaThe endgame we all deserved and the one I've decided to write.





	1. if you'll be the bones

**Author's Note:**

> Back in 2017, I wrote and posted 2 chapters of a fic called A Winterfell Welcome. It was pretty well recieved and I was stoked to see that even early this year it was still getting love. However, before s8 aired I decided to delete it in a fit of clownery, convinced that Gendrya wasn't going to be canon. Imagine my surprise and annoyance at myself for that. Sadly, the draft and planning for that was wiped when my hard-drive died last year and there was no recovering the archive of it. So, this is dedicated to past me who was a dumbass in true Gendry fashion. 
> 
> This fic is my return to Gendrya, so please be kind. It's been a while, I'm a little rusty and I'm sure there's bound to be mistakes littering my barely passable prose. This first chapter is attempting to fix the most glaring problems I had with the finale (and with s8 as an entirety), though I'm undoubtedly going to spend the entire fic doing that. Given it's from Arya's perspective and I wanted to avoid info-dumping the entire time, not every question will be answered to begin with. But, please, bear with me. I promise to make it somewhat worth it. 
> 
> Please enjoy and don't hesitate to hound (heh) me in the comments or over on twitter (@bisexualscratch) or tumblr (logandelos/eliever).

In the Dragon Pit sat a council, assembled out of a desperate need to try and scrounge what they could from the remains of King’s Landing. More than a dozen houses brought to the pit in hopes that they could repair what had been broken years earlier. All of their lives had been changed, for better or worse, since King Robert’s death. With the throbbing of her head and soreness of her throat, Arya Stark was inclined to say the latter.

Arya had outlived her list, by days now, with the deaths of Cersei and the Mountain. She should’ve felt safe knowing that the Night King and his army were no longer a threat to those she loved. Definitely could’ve knowing that Jon was okay, that Sansa would be and Bran, was well, Bran. Yet, still she waited for something to break the dreamlike haze that settled upon each conversation that didn’t end in death. Waited for dragon’s fire or swinging sword, for a new threat to emerge or an old foe to breathe again.

The only sign that it wasn’t a dream was the fact that her teeth were blunter, and she walked on two legs.

As she sat amongst family, friends and strangers, it became very apparent that a dream would be going much smoother.

 _Maybe the decision about what's best for everyone should be left to well, everyone._  
  
It was one statement that made the Dragon Pit fall silent – amidst all of the arguing, the glaring, the unease.  
Samwell Tarly looked inclined to repeat himself, for the silence was growing uncomfortable. Arya waited for someone to shout, to laugh, to dismiss an idea that could change the Seven Kingdoms permanently. As if the events of her childhood to now hadn’t already done that.

But, instead –

“Kings and Queens never did me much good.”

Arya felt as if her heart had crawled up into her throat as she shifted to stare at Gendry. He’d survived too, with worse odds than even she given he’d never had anyone else. He hadn’t had a Jon, not even a Sandor. Though, he’d had her. They’d had each other. As children, running from a Queen who wanted them both dead. As they were now, grown and scarred, seeking a moment’s pleasure before the Night came.

She wanted him to be safe, happy. He, however, seemed intent on putting a target on himself.

His shoulders were back, and he held his chin high. So very different from the man who’d gotten down on one knee, giddy off mead and life, offering something Arya wasn’t sure she’d have the opportunity to consider. And now.

 _He looks every bit a lord,_ came a little, unwelcome voice. _It suits him._

As much a lord as the rest of them and she knew, if time was kind, that he’d have the lady he deserved eventually. Deserving of this new man, in his new clothes and with his new title. The thought made her stomach churn and throat feel tight. _She wanted him to be safe, happy._ She’d thought herself doomed, so didn’t factor herself into that.

Now he was going to get himself killed, or he was going to leave here and make Storm’s End his home. Without her. Arya didn’t know which was worse.

“Cersei wanted me dead, Stannis the same.” He continued, “I’m only here now because I fought. But not everyone was so lucky.”

His eyes flicked to meet hers, and there _he_ was. Gendry, playing a game he’d never cared for, much like Jon. The set of his jaw and lowered brows made him look every bit the stubborn blacksmith she knew him to be. The bull shaped helm was nowhere in sight, lost for years now, and he’d scrubbed himself clean of the soot and sweat she’d grown to like. Yet, she _saw_ him, past the doublet that bore marks she wished wouldn’t make her chest feel tight. Marks that roused something in her, contradicting what she thought to be true.

He had the same glint in his eye now that he’d always gotten before he said or did something reckless – or called her _m’lady_. It was the look of a bastard and apprentice who stood up for little girls dressed as boys. His hair was too short, but the small smile he sent her way was the same. His clothes weren’t _his_ , but his shoulders squared in a way that was utterly Gendry.

Maybe he _was_ Lord Baratheon. But it was only a name.

Gendry looked away from her and to Sam, as if he’d only met her gaze to draw strength.

“No matter what the Dragon Queen said, I know where I’m from. Flea Bottom was my home when I was little more than a bastard.” His eyes slid across to Sansa, “And no matter who sat in that throne, the people, _we_ , suffered. Food and water was sparse, thanks to wars that weren’t ours. Never mind that the whole city smells like –”

Arya’s eyes widened and she gave an undiscernible shake of her head, only for Gendry to deflate slightly. He sank back in his seat and let out a nervous laugh, dragging a hand across the back of his neck.

“My point is,” He looked around, “What good has ever come of the rich giving crowns? We’ve Mad Kings and Queens, so many dead that we’ll be digging graves for months. But here you all are, silently wondering if you’re brave enough to take a throne that was melted by a bloody _dragon_. What if none of you deserve it?”

Arya saw as her uncle’s face hardened, her stomach turning in a way that signalled danger. Tradition was hard to shake, even in the face of tragedy. Westeros had known a throne and a presumed rightful leader who sat in it for so long, what if it couldn’t survive without either? She saw their questions plastered across stony faces, only those she called family and friend defied the tense air.

Blood hadn’t been shed in days and yet, Arya could taste its return a mile off.

“You mean to say you won’t be vying for it yourself, _Lord Baratheon_?” Yara leaned forwards, hands clasped between her knees as she broke the silence. “You’ve a better claim than any of us.”

He blinked; in the confused mouth gaping way she’d come to know over the years. Then he scowled, an equally familiar expression of his that was no less amusing. It was the kind that usually preceded something stupid, something unlordly that’d send an already dangerous discussion into unsalvageable territory.

“Lord Baratheon is for the people, Lady Greyjoy.” Arya felt herself saying, mouth going faster than her brain could comprehend as she felt Sansa freeze beside her. _Queen Greyjoy_ , she could hear a voice that suspiciously sounded like her sister’s say. She ignored it. “Perhaps he’s learnt from where our predecessors went wrong. It’s not without reason that we should let the people decide, let something new and better come from it.”

It wasn’t silence that plagued the pit this time, but loud, overwhelming argument.

Yara and the Martell Prince were at blows over independence, Uncle Edmure’s face was redder than the Targaryen sigil and Gendry looked as if he regretted his decision to speak up at all. He met her gaze and frowned, the crease between his brows deepening. She wanted to move around Sansa and Bran, tell him that it was all okay.

But they weren’t that anymore.

_That’s not me._

She’d made sure of that and only now did she realise how badly it bothered her. The thought that if she couldn’t be a lady, he might fall for someone who could be, making her want to apologise. For broken hearts and a rejected proposal, but also for not taking that white horse all the way back to Winterfell. To him.

Apologies were never her strength, but she felt she needed to try.

Until Gendry rolled his eyes and sent her a crooked smile, the kind that made her stomach stir for an entirely different reason. Maybe all wasn’t lost, maybe he didn’t hate her. Maybe they had a chance.

If the Dragon Pit and its council didn’t come to blows before they could be alone.

“Lord Baratheon is right,” Sansa interrupted clearly, heads snapping up as she looked around. Arya had made it known that her sister was brave, braver than anyone she’d ever known, yet this was a sign of strength even she hadn’t expected. Her hands were clasped in her lap and her chin was high, in a way that differed from Gendry’s. It wasn’t an act; it was Sansa through and through. “Every person who sat in that throne is dead, does that not tell us something? Games have been played, won and lost for as long as any of us have been alive. And for what? Something that was turned liquid in a matter of moments.”

“The throne can be rebuilt. Westeros, however, is barely hanging on, dearest niece.” Edmure piped up coolly, “We could have an uprising on our hands if they were to pick the wrong person. Gods forbid, one of their own.”

Arya scowled, “Because the rules of ascension have done so well in the past, Uncle?”

Edmure’s brows knitted and he made to speak again, Sansa staring him down. 

“Many have talked about breaking the wheel.” Bran spoke up for the first time, voice still so unlike the little brother Arya remembered. Mature in a way she struggled to comprehend, though she supposed they’d all changed. Some of it was just more noticeable than the rest. “Yet, none have tried. Not really.”

Sam’s face brightened considerably, “The Night’s Watch have been doing so for centuries with the Choosing. We could follow them,” before he glanced around the pit nervously. “But, of course, we’d need the support of everyone.”

It was as if the entire pit exhaled simultaneously, more silence following as they all stared at one another. Arya fought the desire to look at Gendry again, to try and reassure him, even if she didn’t know what reassurance there was to be had.

“The Iron Islands pledged to Daenerys Targaryen.” Yara said, scowl firmly in place.

“And she has given up her claim.” Bran said, “In exchange for her self-imposed exile.”

“Her crimes were orchestrated by her Hand and his sister.” Sansa added reluctantly, “Both of whom are dead.”

“The Kingslayer?”

Bran met Edmure’s gaze and unblinkingly countered, “Jaime Lannister has a different fate. He fought for the North and that won’t be forgotten.”

Brienne raised her chin and Arya was given a reason to look in Gendry’s direction again, to find him still staring at her.

“So, the Lannister Queen dead, the Dragon Queen exiled…” Prince Martell’s legs were stretched out before him, the epitome of relaxed, even as those around him fretted. “What of Jon Snow?”

“Jon has never wanted to be King and he’s worn the black, he knows what a democracy entails,” Sansa answered before Arya could interject, “We’re comfortable supporting Sam on his behalf.”

Sam nodded to himself and cleared his throat, “A people led vote for the next protector of the realm. A democracy.” He looked to the Lords at the other end of the pit, “Say aye.”

“Aye.” Came the replies of two Lords Arya didn’t know and Robin Arryn whom she knew from Sansa’s stories.

Prince Martell’s brows were furrowed, “Dornish independence is still a priority.” He said, silently daring someone to oppose him. But he was met with silence and he deflated before, “But, aye.”

More ayes from around the pit, before everyone came to look at Gendry. Only then did he look away from her, nervously meeting the eyes of those around him.

“Aye.” He nodded firmly, despite the flush blooming across his cheeks.

“Aye.” Davos repeated, an undeniably proud smile brightening his face.

“Aye.” Brienne said, face neutral as she looked to Sansa.

“Lannisters, Boltons, Freys…” Sansa’s gaze was piercing, “The Starks, perhaps more than any house here, know the effect that throne has had on Westeros. So,”

“Aye.” Arya finished, smiling at Bran, then Sansa.

Before she met Gendry’s gaze and the smile softened.

_This is us._

* * *

Sisters stood side by side, staring out to the water as the Targaryen fleet receded. The remaining Unsullied and their Queen had left without warm farewell, but none saw fit to complain. After everything, screaming and ash, Arya could scarcely wait to see the last of the red sigil.

She doubted Jon felt much differently, the hug they’d shared at seeing one another again saying more than she thought either of them could ever articulate. He’d looked worn, but at the news of his family’s fate had been relieved. He’d sagged into Arya’s arms and seemed unwilling to move until Sam came to retrieve them. He was to go home, to Winterfell, safely. He was to be Warden, as their father had been, and Arya could’ve sworn he’d almost smiled.

Sansa had decided to stay behind in King’s Landing with Bran, citing her desire to see that the surviving citizens were cared for. Part of Arya had an inkling as to why else she’d remain in a city she’d grown to loathe, and she didn’t hate the idea in the slightest.

“It should be you.” Arya smiled up at Sansa, one hand coming up to shield her eyes from the sun. “Queen Sansa Stark seems fitting, don’t you think?”

“Didn’t we just establish that it’s not our decision?” Sansa said, though her mouth quirked slightly.

“Gendry is right, it shouldn’t be up to us. But I’m right too.” Arya grinned, “The people would be stupid not to pick you. You’re smarter than anyone I know, and brave. The North would be starving, half-dead, or both if not for you.”

Sansa shook her head amusedly, though her cheeks were turning pink, “It’s up for them to decide now. No matter the outcome, I will be glad to see the end of the war.”

“I’m pretty sure the war ended the moment Cersei’s keep fell around her ears and the Targaryen realised she’d been played.”

“I think Lord Baratheon might’ve started another with his idea,” Sansa said, her eyes narrowing slightly, “Uncle Edmure’s face was nearly as red as my hair.”

That made the pair of them laugh, Arya ignoring the way her head protested. It was nice to laugh, though her chest didn’t agree with her movements either, after everything. Nicer to laugh with her sister, a closer friend than she’d ever anticipated.

Sansa straightened after a few more moments and grinned, “You think he’ll put himself forward? A man for the people, as it were.” She pointedly repeated Arya’s defence of Gendry and Arya flushed, looking away.

“Like he said, he’s only got King Robert’s name now because Daenerys gave it to him.” She replied calmly, “He knows the people, he _was_ one of them not that long ago.”

Much like earlier, Sansa’s lips twitched, and she turned to face Arya side on. “I never did ask how you knew him.”

Arya caught her sister’s eye and sighed, shoulders slumping. “Don’t start this now, Sansa. Aren’t we a little old for it?”

Sansa shifted, clasping her hands behind her back and lifting her chin, “I’m not sure what you mean, little sister. I was merely curious. How did you come to know Gendry? Before all this, at Winterfell, it’s as if you’d known each other for years.”

Arya rolled her eyes, “Because we have, stupid.”

She waited for Sansa to goad her into continuing, with a look or question, but instead she just smiled.

It took Sansa’s prolonged, annoying silence for Arya to face her begrudgingly.

“The Kingsroad. We fled King’s Landing on it together, after father. Gendry didn’t know why he had to leave; I knew why I had to, but I couldn’t tell anyone. Except him. I told Gendry and he kept it to himself.”

“He knew who you were? The whole time?”

“No, not the whole time. Not at first. Then when he did, he was good about it, except for teasing me.”

Sansa’s head tilted slightly at the mention of teasing, but she nodded, “And then?”

“Before the Frey’s did what they did, we went our separate ways. But we were always friends. Are _still_ friends.”

“Except?”

Arya’s face scrunched up and she groaned, “Sansa.”

“Arya.” Sansa smiled, “He made it rather obvious, don’t you think?”

“Made _what_ obvious?” Arya asked, unable to contain the brief look of panic that crossed her face.

Sansa’s mouth opened and she made to reply, however her gaze was drawn to her left and she closed her mouth. Gendry stood awkwardly, one hand resting on the sword at his hip, as if he were going to kneel.

Again.

“Lord Baratheon,” Sansa greeted him finally, her lips pursed, though Arya knew it was to fight a smug smile, “We’ve not formally met.”

Gendry looked between them, lips parted and the tip of his ears a little flushed as he shifted nervously. “No, we haven’t.” He started and moved forwards jerkily, hand extended. “Lady Stark.” Then he looked at Arya, swallowing hard and nodding, “Arya, Lady. Arya.”

Arya met his gaze and nodded once, “M’lord.”

Gendry’s expression soured and he looked close to retorting when he looked towards Sansa instead.

“Sansa’s fine.” Sansa looked at his hand before taking it gently, “I hear Ser Davos is to join you in Storm’s End?”

“Well, it took some convincing but,” Gendry brightened a little as he shook her hand, releasing it after a moment, “He’ll be taking Storm’s End in my stead, until I return.”

Arya’s brows shot up and she couldn’t stop herself from moving forwards, “Return? Where are you going?”

Gendry cleared his throat and looked away from Sansa, his voice dropping, “I’m here to… talk to you about that, actually.”

Sansa’s head snapped about so she could stare at Arya, whose gaze was locked firmly on an increasingly nervous Gendry.

“Me?” Arya asked, brows furrowing.

“Yes, _you_.” Gendry bit out, before his shoulders slumped a little, “If you don’t mind, Lady Stark.”

Sansa nodded and smiled at Arya, “We will talk later, Arya. _Gendry._ ”

Gendry was the one to jerkily nod in Sansa’s direction, though his eyes darted to her face and remained there.

Arya watched her sister walk away, head held high and pointedly away from the two of them at the water’s edge. The younger Stark girl played with the frayed edge of one glove and chewed her bottom lip, trying to form the words that might reverse what she’d done.

“I didn’t mean it.” Gendry blurted out, the crease by his eyebrow deepening by the second, “I mean I did, but only some of it.”

Arya looked up at him, a little bewildered as his eyes burned into her face. “What parts did you mean?” She asked quietly, hands dropping to her sides.

“That none of it’d mean anything without you.” He said, stepping closer.

“And?”

He closed his eyes and exhaled, “Arya.”

She smiled a little and raised an eyebrow, closing the gap between them so she could grab his hand gently. “Gendry.”

His eyes opened and bright blue met her grey, not all that unlike the night he’d first said it.

“I love you.” He murmured, “I love you, Arry.”

“And if I were to leave Westeros?”

He swallowed before his tongue ran along his bottom lip, “Stay or go, it’s all the same to me. Where you go, I follow, little wolf.”

“Storm’s End won’t miss its lord?” She teased as his fingers intertwined with hers, squeezing as he shook his head and huffed.

“I’m not their lord.” He answered, “Not yet, if ever.”

Arya placed her other hand against his chest and leaned in, “You’re no longer in need of a lady, then?”

“I didn’t mean it like –”

Their lips met as Arya pushed up onto her tiptoes, her hand sliding up his doublet to cup the back of his neck and pull him closer.

“I’m not _that_ kind of lady,” she murmured, “But maybe we can work something out.”

Gendry’s hands went from hanging limply by his sides to grasping at her, supporting the small of her back and gripping her waist. His tongue swept across her bottom lip and he groaned softly as Arya deepened the kiss, his chest pressing against hers.

“Aye.” He murmured breathily, “Maybe we can.”


	2. when you move, honey i'm put in awe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings and some good ol' smut before we jump into the good shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written smut for others to read in a very VERY long time, if ever. So this is gonna be an Experience. But, I also quite enjoyed writing it so expect more in the future. Sometimes self care IS writing some indulgent explict content!
> 
> As always, enjoy and feel free to harass me on my various socials. 
> 
> tumbles: logan delos  
> twitter: bisexualgendry

Arya’s room wasn’t like the one back in Winterfell. It wasn’t fit for Lady Stark, nor any living person really. It was rundown, stunk of ash as much as the rest of the city did and her bed creaked. However, it was still better than the lumpy sacks of Winterfell’s forge. So, it was without complaint that Arya pulled Gendry inside, pressing eager kisses along his jaw and below his ear.

His hands were working at tugging her tunic free, breath quickening as he stumbled along. It wasn’t nearly as frenzied as their first time, had no reason to be when there was no looming threat of the dead. They had hours until morning, hours until anyone would come looking for either of them.

Arya let her tongue drag across the beginnings of coarse hair along his chin, smiling when she felt more than heard his contented noises. She grabbed at his belt and pulled him closer, only for him to grab her wrists gently.

She flexed her fingers and raised an eyebrow up at him, “What?”

“Don’t you think we should,” Gendry said suddenly, before his eyes closed, “talk some more? Before this?”

She nipped at his chin gently before soothing it with her tongue, “We’ve got plenty of time to talk. _Later._ ”

Gendry froze, only to pull away a little to look at her. “I know we have, but that doesn’t mean we _should_ wait. It’s not like before, Arya.” 

_His eyes on her as she leaned in to kiss him, hands braced by his head. His hands touching her scars, the questioning look gone and replaced only with adoration. His lips pressed to her collarbone, moving across a scarred shoulder, kisses trailed across every inch of bare skin he could reach. Arya’s throat felt tight with the knowledge that no one had ever looked at her like he was now._

_As if she were beautiful, loved, needed._

_Wanted._

Arya looked up at him and deflated, knowing that _before_ couldn’t mean that. Not when he’d taken a knee and told her he loved her, called her beautiful, asked for her hand. A confession she wasn’t sure she’d hear, from anyone much less him. Frighteningly tempting, luring out a part of Arya she wasn’t sure existed. Softly staring down at a man who offered his hand, his heart, like it was nothing. Or worse, like it had always been hers.

She’d said no and weeks later had thought it wise to bring him to her chambers.

Her face must’ve betrayed her souring thoughts as his hands came up to cup her face and he smiled, pressing a kiss to her nose. His warm breath fanned across her face as he remained close, eyes meeting hers as they crinkled in the corners.

“It’s better than before.” He amended, “I just worry.”

Arya’s frown softened slightly, and she ran her thumb gently between his brows, smoothing the crease that appeared when he was thinking. “You are rather good at that.”

He rolled his eyes but leaned into her hand, “I worry about screwing this up. Again.”

“You won’t.” She murmured, pressing a kiss to his mouth, “You didn’t the first time, either. Not really. I did.”

She felt his hand cup her elbow and he squeezed gently, “You?”

“Yes, me.” The kisses continued along his jaw, the opposite side to her original path. “I was scared. That I was going to die here, and you’d be left… Alone.”

“If you’d asked, I’d have come with you.” Gendry moved his free hand, so it was resting at the small of her back like it had by the water.

“I was even more scared of that.” She said simply, resting her temple against his cheek and closing her eyes. “The night the dead came, I didn’t have time to worry about you. I couldn’t see you, couldn’t yell at you for not standing right.”

“Sideface?”

“Sideface is for a smaller target, stupid.”

He snorted but let her continue.

“It wasn’t until after that I realised you could’ve died, and I wouldn’t have been there.” Arya said, “Or the other way around. After everything, we mightn’t have ever seen each other again and then when we did… I thought I had to do something, to finish what I’d started. For that I was wrong, but I was right about the other. I’d rather you have been back in Winterfell hating me, than here. Where you could be hurt, or worse.”

She felt him sigh before his arm slid around her waist, pulling her against him tightly. “I get it.” He murmured against her shoulder, pressing a kiss there, “And I never hated you. Don’t think I have it in me to even try. Besides, I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

“In King’s Landing? Or in my room?” She teased quietly, hand tentatively resting on his belt.

“Your room, which smells awful by the way.” He huffed, moving to press a kiss to the exposed skin of her neck, “Though, it’s a miracle I made it this far with all Davos’ talk of lordliness on the way.”

It was Arya’s turn to snort as she tilted her head to the side, exposing more of her skin to his mouth. “Lordliness? Gods, it’s probably good we’ll be leaving soon or come morning you’ll be musing over what doublet to wear.”

“Unlikely.”

“You say that now.” She swiftly undid his belt and let it fall to the ground, sword clattering loudly against the floor.

Gendry looked at her and raised an eyebrow, “Thought we were talking.”

“What else is there to say?” Arya grinning and tugged at his doublet, “You love me. I love you. We’re leaving together, staying together, and neither of us is going to screw this up.” She pulled him closer and began walking backwards to the bed, “Isn’t that the bulk of it?”

Arya made to continue, look at him and tease him for his uncharacteristic silence when he kissed her firmly.

“You love me.”

It wasn’t a question.

“You love _me._ ” She replied, muffled against his mouth.

His hands seemed to come to life then, finally, and he tugged her tunic roughly from her breeches. Roughened fingers dragged across her stomach, reverently over scars, before pulling it over her head and discarding it. Both of them eagerly removed their boots, Gendry stumbling some more as he followed her, mouth seeking out hers again. She cupped his jaw in her hands and deepened the kiss, gasping softly as Gendry picked her up without issue.

“This okay?” He asked, forehead resting against hers.

“Better than.” She smiled, legs wrapping around his waist as she ran a hand across his head. “Of this, however, I’m not sure.”

Gendry moved to the bed, steadier on his feet now that he held her, and snorted. “My hair doesn’t please m’lady?”

* * *

Clothes were strewn across the floor, a sword and a Needle amongst it all, leaving a Wolf and Bull bare. It was unlike the last time, when they’d stripped hurriedly and had no time to bask in the other’s form. Now, Gendry took his time in reacquainting himself from where he stood between her legs, as if it hadn’t only been weeks since their first and last time together. His eyes almost seemed to shine as he ran a hand along her side, fingers rough in a way that made warmth pool in Arya’s stomach. Even as his fingers ran across scars, some darker and thicker than others, he looked at her as if he might sooner die than pull away.

She knew then that he’d know what they meant and how the people who’d given them were dead.

“Beautiful.” He murmured, leaning in to press a wet kiss to her bare shoulder.

_You’re beautiful and I love you._

For the first time since that night, the words didn’t rouse upset or nausea. It made Arya shuffle backwards on the bed and beckon him closer, Gendry following without a word. He leaned in, pressing his lips to hers and dragging his tongue along her bottom lip, only licking into her mouth when she parted her lips. His hands came to rest at her thighs, squeezing gently before one moved up to cup her breast, his thumb dragging across her nipple and making her gasp into his mouth.

There was no urgency to his movements, tongue lazily moving along hers as he laid her back against the furs. He seemed intent on devouring her in a way that she wasn’t prepared for, every part of her he touched feeling warmed in a way not unlike his forge fire. He was broader than she remembered him being, though she’d had little time to note all the ways in which he’d changed last time. Her hand dragged across his shoulder blades, pausing only when he nipped at her bottom lip. His teeth and tongue in equal parts left her breathless as his other hand dipped between them, cupping her between her thighs.

“Gendry.” It was more a sigh than anything and his lips pulled up into a smile.

That first night she’d pushed him back, sat atop him and moaned sweetly into his mouth as she took all of him. Now, it was Gendry’s weight and warmth that was over her. When women had spoken of this, of man and woman in bed, they’d had no kind words to say of the men. Controlling, rough, unloving.

He was none of those things.

Even though he’d spent much of his life hammering away at steel, some weeks crafting Dragonglass, and years escaping death with her – Gendry was gentle. Gendry was love and warmth and everything she knew with absolute certainty she wanted.

He made to pull away and she followed in a daze, lips parted as she went in for another kiss. Gendry’s head ducked, stubbled cheeks and chin dragging across her chest before he caught her nipple between his teeth and tugged gently. Then, his tongue ran over it and he smiled up at her, blowing cool air through pursed lips. The hand between her legs began moving slowly but steadily, a finger dragging through her folds as she bucked against him.

“ _Oh!_ ” She felt colour flood her cheeks and she looked down at him, “Don’t stop.”

Gendry smirked against her skin, murmuring something that felt an awful lot like “As m’lady commands.”

His finger met where it had their first night, the spot that had sent her over the edge and made her howl like the she-wolf she was. She still hadn’t a clue as to how he knew what to do to elicit the breathy, increasingly loud noises he did, but she was thankful.

There was no pausing by the scars so much as there was a mess of gentle kisses, pressed to each one with care. The Waif had wanted her dead and for a time Arya had been convinced she’d succeeded, but his adoration confirmed how wrong she had been. Arya wasn’t no one, she never had been. She wasn’t lost to the Many-Faced God, doomed to never again be connected to her pack, her family, herself.

She was a Stark, she was in love with Gendry, she was okay. _They_ were okay.

He moved his finger faster and her heart thumped in her chest, the hand that was resting against his head falling to the bed. Fingers tangled in furs as he pushed her thighs further apart, cold air meeting where she was warm and wet, making her whimper. A wet kiss to her hip there, a nip to her thigh, all as his eyes flicked up to meet hers.

They were more black than blue, and Arya shifted, swallowing roughly as she finally realised his intentions.

“But,” she said softly, blinking down at him, already forgetting what she’d been meaning to say.

“We’ve got time, Arya.” He murmured, “Nothing but time.”

That’s when his mouth moved between her thighs and she let her head fall back, eyes sliding shut as Gendry drew noise after noise from her. His tongue was warm, wet, insistent against her and she gasped softly – wanting more, wanting him so desperately it made her thighs shake. One hand moved from her hip, up to her breast and he grabbed it gently, not like she might break but as if he were keeping her together all the same.

She pulled her hand from his shoulder and placed it on top of his head as his tongue met the spot exposed by the absence of his finger. His short hair proved to be no issue as Arya’s nails dragged along Gendry’s scalp, eliciting groans from him as his tongue moved eagerly against her. There came the slow build in her stomach, warmth and something that made her thighs shake. Much like the first night, but different too.

He alternated between urgent, quick strokes and languid dragging to her entrance and back again. The room was silent save for the noises Gendry made from between her legs and the whimpers drawn from Arya’s throat. It was also warmer than Arya remembered it being, her cheeks and chest feeling the brunt of the heat and growing flushed. He did nothing to help matters, seemingly abandoning all restraint as his tongue quickened, circling her entrance before dipping into it slowly.

“ _Arya_.” He murmured against her, thumb rubbing at her nipple gently.

“More.” Came her raspy reply, eyes squeezed shut as she bit back a particularly loud moan.

There was no argument, only the feeling of Gendry’s tongue pressing into her as he groaned quietly. The vibrations made her thighs clench around his head and she babbled, tugging at furs as he repeated the noise happily. Arya was only vaguely aware of his hand moving from her skin, only for a finger to press where she wanted him most.

“Please.”

His finger pushed in and her breath left all at once in a sharp exhale, one leg coming to drape across Gendry as he crooked the digit. While his tongue had moved languidly, his finger moved eagerly, as if seeking out something. She clenched around his finger and shifted, whining as he pressed a kiss to her thigh.

“C’mon, love.” He said softly, “Like that.”

Arya’s chest heaved as she bucked against him, feeling a second finger join the first before he moved them just so. That’s when he hit _it_ , something that made her yell out unintelligibly and she felt herself grow even slicker around him. It made her start and her hips moved without prompting.

“Again.” She gasped, “Gendry.”

Gendry grew more persistent in meeting the same spot repeatedly, his mouth working against her bud as he stroked her. Even closed, Arya could feel her eyes rolling back and her foot dug into his rear, rutting against his hand relentlessly. She could no longer even choke out pleas of more, or even his name, and her moans grew shaky. The hand at her breast moved to rest at her hip, thumb dragging along her skin as he looked up at her.

When it finally hit, it was without warning and was accompanied by a dry sob. Her back arched and her legs tightened around him, hands bearing down of their own accord. If she’d felt warm before, now she felt as if she was on fire. She twitched, clenching around his fingers as her body was wracked with a seemingly unending shudder. Gendry only took it as encouragement, lapping at her hungrily and slowing his fingers gradually.

She was still for a moment, or several, panting softly as she blinked up at the ceiling. It took several more moments for Gendry to reappear, licking his already wet mouth before he grinned down at her.

“Smug.” She managed weakly, though her own lips were fighting a grin. 

“Happy.” He corrected, leaning in to kiss her gently.

Arya moved up to deepen the kiss, gripping at his arm as she was met with a taste and she knew it was her own. Their tongues met and she groaned softly into his mouth, one hand pushing at his shoulder until she could sit up. Gendry moved back onto his knees and pulled her against his chest, hand coming to cup her cheek as he panted against her mouth. His fingers splayed against the small of her back and she shifted, feeling him twitch beneath her.

Her grin finally won and wolfishly it lit up her face, grey eyes alight as she looked him over.

“My turn.” Was all she said before pushing him against the bed.


	3. i'm all yours and willingly damned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the morning after and a familiar face re-emerges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a shorter chapter today BUT soon the adventures shall begin! thank you for all of your lovely comments & kudos, it means the world to me.
> 
> also, a changed username. figured i should go with something more fitting with what i'm writing currently ;) 
> 
> as always, find me on tumblr @ logan delos, or twitter @bisexualgendry x

Arya found herself waking after a reasonable night’s sleep in a room that smelled more of them than it did of ruin. There’d been no nightmares, not even a dream of wolves. Just warmth and Gendry snoring softly by her side as she felt herself falling. If it had anything to do with the previous night’s activities and his presence, Arya smiled to herself and kept the acknowledgment at that. Neither of them had bothered to redress and there’d been no question of whether Gendry was staying in her bed. They were on even ground, for perhaps the first time since the Kingsroad.

Sunlight barely shone through the shattered windows and she felt happy in the knowledge that they had time yet. She wasn’t going anywhere, but even if she’d had the inclination, a heavy arm lay over her stomach. At some time during the night Gendry had rolled onto his stomach and had managed to pull her closer in the process. He slept like the dead, always had if her memory served her correctly. But this was different. There was no danger, not even from the incensed Lords who were surely plotting away already in the face of a democracy.

Sleep made him look younger even, for a man of barely five and twenty. The constant frown, in frustration or worry or concentration, relaxed. The furs they’d fallen asleep covered by had been kicked down to rest over his hips, leaving his back exposed. It was as unscarred as it’d been the last time she’d seen it, in Harrenhal when she’d not known how to react to a shirtless Gendry. His shoulders were broader now, his arms thicker. But he was still as much the grumpy blacksmith he’d been back then; one whose presence made her sleep easier and if the steady rise and fall of his back gave any indication, the feeling was mutual.

Just as Arya began to feel the call of sleep beckon again, Gendry stirred. She knew he had, even without looking at him, because of the hum of contentment he let out. For a man who spoke so little normally, he certainly made a lot of noises. He’d proven as such hours earlier, growling against her throat in a way that made her heart race and smile widen.

“Mornin’.” He said, voice thick with sleep as he leaned in to kiss her forehead.

“Morning.” She smiled up at him, though her brows furrowed as she moved her fingers up along his chin. “Whose idea was it to get rid of all your hair? And the beard, I liked your beard.”

Cleanshaven and with mere inches of hair remaining, Gendry might’ve looked a different person if she didn’t know him. He was _her_ person.

He smiled widely, turning his head so he could press a kiss to her fingertips. “Mine, m’fraid.” He exhaled softly and closed his eyes, leaning into her hand as it cupped his jaw. “Thought it’d help me blend in more.”

“Least it worked.” Then Arya grinned wickedly, “But, at what cost?”

_“Years here, right under Cersei’s nose.” He’d murmured, sometime between their third and forth go at things. “Was odd… Scary too, at first. The sight of Goldcloaks made me freeze up for months. But…”_

_“You survived.” She’d replied, pressing a kiss to his jaw._

_“We both did.”_

“You wound me.” Gendry glanced up to the ceiling and shook his head, a wide grin pulling at his lips.

Arya rolled her eyes, “I do nothing of the sort, and you know it.” She pushed herself up and threw a leg over his waist, moving so she could straddle his hips.

He took his time meeting her gaze, hands dragging across her hips and up before he hummed appreciatively. His eyes lingered on her stomach and chest for longer than Arya had the patience for, but she let him take his time all the same. He’d only just met her eyes when she struck, grabbing his wrists and pinning them back on either side of his head.

“If I really wanted to wound you,” Arya murmured, ducking down to kiss the bridge of his nose, “I’d catch you unawares.”

Gendry let out a soft, quiet noise and his eyes widened a little, in equal admiration and confusion. She merely smiled down at him, thumbs dragging across the soft skin of his wrists. The rare bit of skin near his hands that wasn’t rough with callouses, but even then, she could’ve sworn she saw the remnants of soot.

“Then what?” came his quiet reply, a dopey smile taking hold.

“Then,” Arya hummed, eyes narrowed in consideration as she shifted slightly, “I’d probably take my knife.”

His breathing hitched and his lips parted, “What would you do with it?”

“I’d find your weak spot.”

“My weak spot? Who says I have one?”

“Everyone has a weak spot, Gendry.”

“What’s yours?” His voice dropped, all as he looked up at her, and she felt her own breathing catch. His tone was earnest, and his smile hadn’t waned, killing whatever residual resistance she might’ve had to responding.

She squeezed his wrists gently and released them, her hands coming to rest gently on his chest. One laid atop his heart, fingers splayed, and she looked back at him.

“I’m looking at it.”

Arya felt it when Gendry exhaled raggedly and then he was sitting up, arms winding around her waist tightly.

“And I’m looking at mine.” He leaned in to rest his forehead against hers, “Though, I’d be stupid to call you any kind of weak.”

It took nothing for her to duck her head to kiss him sweetly, softly. For all her hard edges and scars, she’d happily let herself have this, _him_. The sun was rising by the minute it seemed and _their_ room, not hers, felt the most lively it had since she’d arrived.

She felt a large hand drift up her back, taking its time before it tangled in her hair. They kissed slowly, tongues taking their time before retreating. While his fingers tugged at her hair gently, Arya’s hands came to dangle over his shoulders as she tugged at his bottom lip with her teeth. Before long Arya had laid back and pulled Gendry with her.

“Do you think everyone would be awfully mad if we stayed in here a while longer?” Gendry asked, though the look on his face indicated he wouldn’t care.

“If they are, let them stew in it.”

* * *

They were getting dressed sometime later, cheeks still a little flushed and hair in need of a good tidy, for her at least. Arya had only managed to lure him out of bed by reminding him that if it got too late, someone would surely be sent looking for the pair of them. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Gendry move so quickly, pressing a wet kiss to the corner of her mouth with murmured promises of _later_.

“Do you think I made a mistake?” Gendry asked, his hands pausing at his breeches. His face was drawn into what she knew was his thinking face, the crease returning in full force as his mouth downturned.

Arya wanted to joke, light-heartedly detract by reminding him of the night _and_ morning’s activities - but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She felt a shift within herself, of not feeling like she had to talk, but feeling like she _wanted_ to. For his sake and for hers.

“Yes.” She said simply, before adding, “But also, no.” She moved closer as he fussed with his clothes, the more frustrated he got the more he bumbled about, and he huffed as she touched one wrist gently.

“Yes _and_ no?” He grumbled, letting his hand fall as Arya deftly tied his breeches and kneeled to retie his boots.

“The decision wasn’t going to be simple.”

“No, but I didn’t have to stick my nose in it. What do I know?” Gendry said, “What good has opening my mouth ever done me before?”

She rolled her eyes, “You say that as if you do nothing but talk.”

“Feels like it sometimes.”

She looked up at that and shook her head, “You did well. It’s not going to be easy with so many people wanting so many different things. But you said your piece and for that, you shouldn’t regret yesterday.”

“Even if the first order of business today is to deal with me?”

Arya snorted and stood, poking him hard in the side. “ _Deal_ with you?”

Gendry smiled crookedly and leaned in to rest his forehead against hers, “Yeah. Would you protect me?”

“Stupid…” It was her turn to grumble, despite the smile that pulled at her own mouth. “Of course, I would.”

* * *

They walked hand in hand to what was once the throne room. Gendry had initiated it, bumping his pinkie against hers as they descended the stairs outside their room, and Arya had indulged in the affection. His casual way of doing so disarmed her, but the small, nervous smile he sent her way removed any hesitation. They’d both forgone the accoutrements of the day earlier, bare fingers intertwined as Arya spotted a head of red hair. 

“Good morning.” Sansa smiled slightly, her gaze briefly flicking down to their joined hands before back up again. “ _Just_. We’re still waiting on Uncle Edmure and… Prince Martell.”

“Prince?”

Arya looked up at Gendry, “Dorne sees itself an independent kingdom.”

“But it’s not that easy.” He frowned, “Right?”

“Well, between Dorne, the Iron Islands and the North…” Sansa gestured towards the entrance before stepping in time with the pair. “What king or queen wants only four kingdoms?”

“I think it sounds just fine.” Gendry murmured, “Less angry people means less war.”

“On that, you and I agree, Lord Gendry.”

Arya smiled, “Spoken like a true Queen.”

“Oh, stop with that.”

Overnight, it’d seem, the room had been transformed into something of a council chambers. A large table had been dragged from another room, chairs placed on every side haphazardly. Arya reluctantly let go of Gendry’s hand, sending him a small smile before her gaze was drawn away. The melted remains of the throne still lurked in the background and Arya turned away, pulling a chair out and sitting down heavily. She wondered if the debris had easily been moved and by whom it had been cleared up. King’s Landing was desolate, save the few smallfolk who’d been lucky.

Sansa sat to her left, posture as impeccable as Gendry’s was stiff. The purpose of the meeting was uncertain to the three of them, Bran having been withholding in the details. That hadn’t stopped the entirety of the Council arriving, however.

“They’re already plotting.” Sansa noted, her eyes carefully watching as the remaining Lords milled about, murmuring to one another.

Arya’s brows rose only slightly, “Did Bran say something?”

“Not really. You know how he is.”

“Sadly.”

The young man she’d met, after years apart, was so unlike the boy she remembered. He was quiet, pragmatic in when he chose to spoke, and it made Arya mourn for another brother she’d lost. Except, it was perhaps worse, considering Robb and Rickon were gone. Bran wasn’t, but he was, all at once.

“Morning all.” Davos greeting, sitting beside Gendry. “Lad, was going to bid you goodnight but your room was empty.”

Gendry flushed pink, “Yes, well.”

“Sansa, Arya.”

Arya and Gendry both looked from Ser Davos, relief clear on their faces as Bran approached the table. He had the same blank look on his face he’d worn the day before, until he met Arya’s eyes. Then, she could’ve sworn there was a flicker of something.

“Lord Gendry, Ser Davos.” He continued greeting, before settling beside Sansa.

“Brother.” Sansa said softly, “You’ve news?”

“Of sorts.”

_Forever the cryptic._

Finally, the last of their council arrived. Nymor Martell sat on the opposite side of the table, sat beside Yara Greyjoy yet again, whilst Edmure seated himself besides Bran. Their Uncle seemed to have gotten over his mood, talking amongst several Western Lords quietly. For that Arya was glad, if only because it meant the meeting would go smoothly.

“What are we here for today?” Yara finally spoke up, looking around, “More arguing?”

None managed to get a word in before Bran cut in with a soft, “No. Today is about something else.”

“What do you mean, nephew?” Edmure’s brow raised quizzically, “Surely we’ve had enough upheaval. Must we really introduce more.”

“I’m sorry, Lord Tully.” Came a familiar voice and Arya spun in her chair before she could stop herself, smiling widely.

“Jon.” Arya said softly, and he met her eyes.

She’d seen him only the once since the day everything had changed, and he’d shown his grief. The part he’d unknowingly played in the burning, his acceptance of Daenery’s madness when she’d really been a tool in someone else’s game. Jon’s eyes had been puffy, and his face drawn, showing no sign of rest as he clutched Arya’s hands between his.

_“I never wanted any of this.” He’d said, voice wavering as he looked to the ground._

_“Of course, you didn’t.” Arya had replied, “Jon, you’re a good man.”_

_“What good man would let his queen suffer? What good man would let her men do what they did?”_

_“One who believes in the good of others.”_

Jon looked better, the colour having returned to his face, and his clothes were clean. His hair was down, as curly as it’d ever been, and he smiled back. It was the most peace Arya had felt in weeks, Jon was safe. Jon was smiling.

Jon was _okay_.

Jon was - 

“Lord Stark, Warden of the North.” Bran corrected and the room fell silent. Lords shared looks with other Lords and Arya looked to Sansa, whose face surely matched her own.

It’d seem there was much Bran hadn’t shared with his sisters.


	4. that's my whole world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Stark, an almost argument and a do-over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a bit longer to write this out as it's the longest chapter yet, but I hope it was worth the wait (I feel like I say that A LOT)! I will apologise profusely for the amount of infodumping seen here but I can happily say that FROM HERE ON OUT? IT'S ADVENTURE TIME BAYBEY!!! I'd like to thank the remarkable fic writers who updated yesterday (scrub, obsessivewriter, you are the real mvps) because it made me actually sit down and go OKAY I'M WRITING. 2k later and we had a finished chapter!
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone for reading, kudosing, commenting, loving this fic! It means soooo much & I love you all. 
> 
> Also, to Tasha my inimitable beta, friend, angel <3 This is for you!!!

The throne room had a heavier tension than that of the Dragon Pit, whether due to Bran’s announcement or an underlying sense of nervousness, Arya wasn’t sure. Jon had taken his seat between Brienne and Davos, sparking immediate debates over the legitimisation and what had transpired prior to it. After a night’s sleep, at the very least they all seemed more animated. There hadn’t been the uncomfortable settling into King’s Landing of days previous and everyone seemed better for it.

That also unfortunately meant that when conversation had erupted, it was loud and relentless. Arya wasn’t sure what she cared less for, the politics or the stupidity. The throne had never been her fight, not her goal. Her fight was with her pack and that reared its head before anyone could so much as blink.

Sansa was the most relaxed she’d ever been, though she still held her chin high and a smile was reserved for those who knew her best. Bran’s announcement had left him with a remarkably in character glint in his eye, his face nearing smug as he took in his sister’s surprise. Gendry was frozen beside her, looking equal parts terrified and confused, as he was still partly convinced the meeting was regarding his execution.

“I could not care less about another legitimised bastard.” One lord hissed to another in a moment of calm. It wasn’t a direct attack so much as a flippant remark by someone who knew less than nothing about anything.

But Arya felt Gendry stiffen beside her and she looked in time to see his shoulders high and jaw locked. It was a familiar sight, one that always preceded him opening his mouth and worsening things. It wasn’t a sight Arya had missed, for an angry Gendry often times meant trouble and the last she’d seen him like that he hadn’t been a Lord. His hands were balled into fists beneath the table and resting on his knees, knuckles bone white with the force of his clenching. Those hands were meant for hitting steel and it showed. Without thinking too much, she slid one of her hands over his and squeezed gently, her thumb running along his knuckles.

They looked at one another, his mouth pinched and hers set in a firm line. Gendry wasn’t about to say anything, out of stubbornness or fear she wasn’t sure, so she spoke.

“Good thing that no one has asked you to care, Lord Fossoway.” Arya’s voice came out clearer and louder than she intended. “Or else we’d be here all day debating _your_ cares. We wouldn’t get a thing done.”

The man’s grey, bushy eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead and Arya could feel all eyes on her. She’d never backed down from a fight and she certainly wouldn’t now, not even if the man looked fit to keel over. He made to open his mouth and in response Arya narrowed her eyes.

“As for bastards,” she added coolly, “They’ve always been worth double what a Lord Paramount is, in _my_ experience.”

Fossoway, whose face had turned an unbecoming shade of red, finally looked away. Arya let herself smile triumphantly and she turned to meet Gendry’s gaze, only to find his eyes misty and his side of the table gaping at her. Gendry’s expression had her frowning and she leaned in to ask but was interrupted.

“Jon, close your mouth.” Sansa finally spoke, “You’re bound to swallow a fly. Or several.”

Arya’s resulting snort echoed and the tension was broken.

* * *

After Arya’s interjection discussion had calmed somewhat. However, there were still questions to be answered. The most pressing of which Arya was sure she knew, with Jon’s presence. The day was bound to be long, torturous in a way that the Pit hadn’t been. For then, it’d held weight about Westeros’ future. That had left them all jittery, conversation stilted as they all sought to make their opinion known. Now, it was just answering to whatever mundane questions each Lord had, attempting to tidy a messy situation as best they could.

“As lovely as this all is…” Yara drawled, “ _Lord_ Stark’s not explained how he came to be a Lord and how my Queen came to leave the city, without so much as a goodbye.”

Jon and Bran exchanged a weighted look.

All Arya could think about was Aegon Targaryen, the man who Jon might’ve been if not for the choices of others. He was still her brother, in everything but blood, and his identity was his to shoulder. His to handle too, whether that be rejecting a claim and that name or not. Others wouldn’t see it that way though, the Targaryen legacy steeped in blood and ash now more than ever.

The pair didn’t remain silent for long and Arya was left wondering if she’d ever know all that happened in this very room, or if Jon had truly changed so far as to no longer confide in her.

“When I became aware of Tyrion’s conspiring, I hastened in my attempts to send word here.” Bran replied, “I was too late and for that, I bear the responsibility. For the dead, the fallen city, for not being swifter in my revelations.”

“Tyrion and Cersei had been plotting for how long?”

“Since we brought proof of the dead from beyond the Wall.” Jon answered, “They met privately, and I thought nothing of it…”

“None of us did.” Sansa’s voice was steady but clipped. Arya didn’t need to look hard to realise that she felt Tyrion’s betrayal deeply, especially considering the distrust they’d shared of Daenerys was undoubtedly orchestrated too.

“Daenerys conceded defeat willingly when she learnt of the manipulation at play. That doesn’t erase the toll her actions had upon the city, but it’s more than can be said for her father.” 

“And for that, you let her leave? How did you come to decide it was your choice at all?” Lord Fossoway asked, though his voice certainly lacked the edge it had earlier.

“It wasn’t for us to decide anything.” Bran stared at him impassively, “It was what would have come to pass, no matter the circumstances.”

The Lord shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as the older Lords often did when faced with Bran and his knowledge of all. Arya felt a wash of pride at the effect he could have over his elders, even her at times.

“Of her three dragons, two are dead. Her Dothraki are few and the remaining Unsullied will be forced to live with their part in her siege. Exile is perhaps an even harsher punishment than the alternative.” Jon’s voice was softer now, “But it’s what she suggested, in the end. Then, as a sign of good faith, she gave me the name of my family.” He looked up then and smiled at Arya, “Of my pack.”

Arya wasn’t so naïve as to ignore what the secrecy surrounding his parentage would mean for Daenerys. It was a safer for all involved, she knew that. But it didn’t quell the smile she sent Jon’s way in return. Didn’t stop how her heart raced at the knowledge that to all, now, after everything he was her brother in name now too.

“So, you mean to tell me,” Nymor said, two fingers resting at his temple, “We’ve another person with a claim, but you don’t want it?”

“The North is my home.” Jon replied, “Even if I wanted what’s left of the throne, I’m not a king. Never was.”

“Forgive me, but the North didn’t seem to agree then, milord. Who is to say they won’t be equally as ignorant now?”

“That is their right.” He answered plainly, “But I will return to the North as its Warden, like our father before me. Nothing more.”

Of all he’d said, _our father_ is what stood out most to Arya _._ Whatever had transpired, over a week earlier now, had changed Jon. For the better, this time, she could only hope.

She felt her eyes water slightly and she forced herself to look down as she blinked furiously. Her face must’ve given away the lump in her throat for Gendry turned his palm to lace their fingers together, squeezing as she had. Her gaze flicked up to Gendry’s and she made no move to let go of his hand, his own lips twitching in response.

For how long it had taken them to meet that morning, it took significantly less time for Lords to leave. The meeting had gone as smoothly as one could expect of a bunch of old curmudgeons, legitimised bastards and women who weren’t hesitant to say their share. They all seemed eager to sup, or get deep in their cups, and the remaining group couldn’t say they mourned the loss.

“All those Lords and not a king among them.” Davos said, not without humour, “But, the people will choose wisely, I’m sure.”

“They’d better.” Yara scowled, “I hate this fucking city. The sooner I can be at sea, the better.”

“Aye.” Gendry muttered lowly and Arya’s smile widened.

It reminded her of Gendry’s declaration, that he’d follow her wherever. _Stay or go._ Arya had been so eager to run after the Dragon Pit, before they’d kissed and he’d sworn all manner of things, some as his lips brushed against her thighs. Now, she wasn’t sure where to go or what to do, but at the very least she knew Gendry would be right there beside her.

The lure of adventure still very much lingered, but a part of her was quick to remember that each of her past adventures had left a permanent reminder on her skin. Gendry had pressed to every single one a kiss, and in each one she was presented with a new truth.

She was Arya Stark of Winterfell. There would not come a day where her face fell away to reveal another, her face was her own.

She loved Gendry. This had been a truth for longer than she’d known, planted deep long ago, only to be given a new life when they’d reunited.

He loved her. It showed in his eyes, the press of his mouth to the spot where her neck met her shoulder, and how gentle his roughened hands managed to be against her.

Adventure, she’d had her fair share of, as all manner of people. War, she’d seen it in the swing of a sword and the corpse of her brother, in every step she’d taken as Arry, as No One, as the Bringer of the Dawn.

This kind of love was new. Safety had been long forgotten and comfort was nowhere near being familiar. With Gendry, though, she could see how they might become normal. With that in mind she looked up, shifting closer so her arm was pressed against his.

“Want to go for a walk?” Arya finally offered, “We can talk.”

Gendry’s posture had relaxed significantly since the beginning of the day and when he smiled at her, it was closer to what she’d been greeted with in bed than that of his polite dealings with the other Lords.

“About this?” That crease by his eyebrow had returned and his voice dropped considerably before he added, “Or us?”

“ _Us_?” Jon had been embroiled in a deep conversation with Podrick Payne, who now stared between Arya and Gendry as Jon did. Arya hadn’t thought Gendry was _that_ loud, and yet, “Do you know each other?”

“Maybe.” Gendry answered quickly as Arya rolled her eyes, “No, not at all.”

“Well?” Jon sighed, “Which is it?”

“We do.” Arya lifted her chin and eyed her brother, “You mean to tell me, you were both beyond the Wall, and no one thought to mention me?”

“Clegane was there too.” Gendry said quietly, “Beric… Thoros.”

Arya looked between Gendry and Jon before pushing up and away from the table, “Absolutely hopeless, the lot of you.” She pressed a kiss to Gendry’s head before pointing at Jon, “You, with me.”

* * *

They walked silently for a few minutes, Arya’s gaze falling anywhere that wasn’t Jon, who was desperately trying to keep up. For all the jokes about her height, Arya had always been quick. If her mind was occupied, she became even quicker. That was the case now, given she had any number of things to say, in any number of ways. So much change in a short amount of time left her feeling restless and she clenched her hands as Gendry had, but found no solace in the action.

They’d lost so much time, with Jon hiding away after the burning and Arya’s focus on several things that were unsurprisingly Gendry related. It felt like it had been years since she’d last seen him, wandering half-dazed as he sought out Daenerys. As he walked towards a future neither of them could have anticipated. She contemplated scolding him, kicking him in the shin and asking a dozen questions. His failure in seeing her earlier, telling her _earlier_. His interactions with Gendry, that had apparently neglected any mention of her existence. The Dragon Queen, his _aunt,_ giving him the name, he deserved. It all occupied a space in her racing thoughts and while it wasn’t all bad, it was overwhelming.

She spun around, determined to say as much.

Jon’s arms were around her before she could even speak, his head resting against hers as they stood on one of the few landings that had survived. It wasn’t what she’d expected, not when she’d been intent on telling him to explain himself. But instead her annoyance dissipated, and she squeezed him tightly, closing her eyes.

There was time, nothing _but_ time, for them to talk and argue and for Jon to explain himself. For now, Arya was tired, and she’d missed him terribly.

“Hello.” She murmured quietly into his doublet.

“Hello.” Jon breathed out, pulling away to cup her face and look her over. His gaze lingered on her forehead, brows knitting at the sight of what was sure to be an impressive scar. “’M’sorry for… well, everything.”

“For everything?” Arya shook her head a little, “You’re not responsible for anywhere near the number of things you think you are.”

“Then for the things I am.” Jon’s mouth pulled into a smile and his shoulders relaxed, “Arya. I didn’t mean to… I should’ve told you sooner.”

“That you were a Lord?”

“Yes.” He had the decency to look bashful as he looked down to the ground, “Though, I’m not the only one keeping secrets.”

“It’s not a secret. Sansa and Bran and Davos know. Ser Brienne and Podrick too, I’m sure.”

“Oh, well if they all know…” He smiled then, “How long? You and Gendry, that is.”

Arya shrugged, “We’ve been friends since I fled here the first time, if you must know. As for the other, the night before I saved your arses.”

“Oh?” Jon raised an eyebrow before he blinked, “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah. That’s the last I’ll hear of it, thanks.”

“Fair enough.”

“He’s a good man. Though, you already know that.”

“I do.” Jon turned and pulled her in for another hug, resting his chin atop her head. “To think, we were bonding over our fathers when we could’ve been talking about you instead.”

“Seems neither of you are inclined to think when in the other’s presence.”

“A little harsh, Arya.”

“But very true.” Her voice gave away the grin that widened as she spoke.

“A bit.” She felt him laugh against her hair and they both relaxed, “You wanted to talk to him just now.”

“Still do.”

“About what?” Jon asked, before sheepishly, “If it’s my business.”

“It’s not really,” Arya said, looking up at him, “but, I want to leave King’s Landing.”

“That makes you one of many.” His face made it clear that he was in the majority and he looked to the sky.

“I want to leave now.” She clarified, “Before there’s a vote.”

“Then…” He nodded to himself mostly, “Go. Just promise you won’t leave for good.”

Arya rolled her eyes and squeezed him again, “You’re not getting rid of me so easily.”

“You’re leaving?” Sansa’s voice cut in.

She would evidently have to come to terms with the fact that her family had taken to being just as quiet as she was. Time and war had ensured they all held their intentions close to their chests and Arya wondered how long it would take for that to lax, even when in the presence of family. Arya couldn’t see any of them creeping about the corridors of Winterfell after everything, hiding truths from one another, though she’d know about it all before the lies left their tongues.

Distrust was for sheep, seeking out the wolves amongst them.

They weren’t the sheep.

Sansa’s hands were clasped behind her back and she was smiling, a pleasant flush to her cheeks and a twinkle in her eye that Arya hadn’t seen in quite some time. She was followed by Bran, who looked quite pleased with himself. Bran’s face had lost some of its apathy in their days within the city, which was nice in isolation but concerning when his gaze settled on Arya and he smiled. Really, _smiled_.

Then there was Gendry whose face hadn’t relaxed since Arya had last seen him minutes earlier. He looked worried, scared even. She didn’t need to look too closely to see he’d near bitten his lip raw and his hands were in the midst of being wrung. His eyes fell on her and he swallowed roughly, as privy to the conversation they’d interrupted as Sansa was.

He was worried. As if they hadn’t already promised to follow one another, no matter the destination. 

_Stupid man,_ she thought, _and he’s all mine._

“ _We_ are.” Arya smiled, holding her hand out to Gendry, “Soon as can be arranged.”

* * *

“I’m not dead.” Gendry said slowly as he sank heavily into the nearest chair. They’d kicked their boots off in silence and Arya had wondered if he would say what was bothering him. She felt only a small sense of relief at his speaking up. 

His eyes were wide and he’d yet to regain all his colour after a lengthy, but polite conversation with Arya’s family. Sansa he’d met, spoken with on a few occasions now and didn’t have an issue with. Jon, he knew and had fought alongside before Arya had reunited with them both. Bran, as elusive as ever in revealing the whole truth and his intentions, had been what left Gendry scratching his head. 

“No.” Arya smiled, reaching up to undo her braid and comb her fingers through her hair. “Not even a bit.”

“You’re no comfort.” He sighed, resting his head in his hands.

“What are you fretting over?” She moved to touch his shoulder, “It all went fine. Jon liked you already, my opinion only boosts his estimation of you.”

He looked up and she grinned, her hand moving to rest against his cheek. The happy lines that formed at the corners of his eyes were nowhere to be found and his mouth only drooped further. Arya felt her heart sink and she sat opposite him, hands falling between her knees as she rest her forearms atop her thighs. 

“It wasn’t that conversation that has left me…” Gendry began, before he sighed and closed his eyes, “I’m a fool.”

“You can’t sing or dance, Gendry. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Arya.”

The stern edge to his voice made her brows rise and she tilted her head to the side, all as he blinked up at the ceiling.

“The night I proposed.”

_Oh._

“You’ve already told me you didn’t mean it like that. It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” His eyes were watery when they met hers and she found herself feeling more confused than ever. “This morning, you made it even more obvious that I’m a complete idiot.”

“We already knew that, love.” Arya teased gently, “But how so?”

“You defended me.” His nostrils flared as he exhaled shakily, “In front of everyone. Not just that, you… You’re you.”

“Yes, I am.”

Finally, his lips twitched, and a semblance of a smile lit up his face. “You are. My point is that when I proposed, I fucked up.”

She stood then, moving to push him back gently against the chair so she could sit herself across his thighs. Her hand came to rest at the nape of his neck, fingers dragging idly through the sparse hair that remained there.

“Okay, talk.” She poked his shoulder and smiled, “What am I missing?”

“Remember when we last saw each other? With the Brotherhood.”

“How could I not?”

“You asked me to be your family.” Gendry continued, looking off into the distance. “But, at the time I was too stupid or too stubborn to think anything of it. I was worried that we’d arrive in Winterfell and you’d leave me to my forge like any Lady should leave a bastard with no name.”

“That was stupid of you.”

“Yes, it was. I didn’t learn either, because I repeated that again, didn’t I?”

“How so?” Arya frowned.

“When Daenerys legitimised me, I got it into my head that suddenly you’d want me to be your family.”

Her hand paused in his hair and she exhaled softly, the realisation making her shoulders slump.

“In that moment it just seemed like having a name or a title would make me more worthy of you.” Gendry said, lips pursed as he thought his next words over carefully. “I don’t know whether it was the drink or my own stupidity that made me think you’d ever care about any of that.”

Arya smiled widely, something that seemed reserved for him alone at present. “Bit of both?”

“Aye.” Gendry conceded, rolling his eyes. “I’m not a Baratheon, Arya. I’ve the eyes and the hair… The blood.” The latter was added bitterly through a stern mouth, “But I’m no Lord. Storm’s End isn’t mine, I don’t want it.”

“Then what do you want?”

He looked at her suddenly, his cheeks warming as he ran his tongue along his bottom lip.

“To be your family.” He answered, “Though I’ve a feeling I’ve been that for a long time already.”

“You’d be correct.”

They smiled at each other and Arya shifted so her legs were on either side of his, before she pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Are you asking me again?” She asked after a moment, in between slow kisses.

“Would you like me to?”

“I’m already yours. A Godswood and a cloak won’t change that.” His eyes widened and Arya laughed, pinching his cheek between her finger and thumb. “What of you?”

Gendry shook his head and huffed before resting his forehead against her, his hands falling to her hips.

“I’m yours.” He mumbled into the hollow of her throat before grinning up at her, “Till death, ‘mfraid.”

“And what of after?”

“You’ll be stuck with me then.” His fingers deftly, a feat given how ridiculously large his hands were, slipped beneath her tunic and grazed her stomach. “There’ll be absolutely _no_ turning back.”

Arya’s retort caught in her throat when he cupped a breast gently and she let her eyes close. He was already half-hard against her and she couldn’t help the way she ground against it. In return, his thumb dragged against her nipple, drawing a low moan from her as she gripped at his shoulders. Warmth so quickly pooled in her stomach in his presence, lighting a fire she’d never even considered before she’d caught sight of him in her home’s forge.

They moved against one another slowly, taking their time in ridding the other of their tunics to press warm hands and lips to all the skin they could reach. Gendry had become unnervingly good at nipping and sucking at her skin to leave flushed pink marks in his wake, his nose dragging between her breasts as he kissed a path down and _down_. She squirmed when his breath fanned across her stomach and he grinned before tugging at the waist of her breeches, a brow raised in questioning.

In answer she ground against him more insistently and the ensuing groan made her laugh. His eyes crinkled, as she liked best, and he kissed the corner of her mouth wetly.

“Still…” She finally managed, moving her hands to undo the laces of his breeches. “I can see the benefits of a ceremony. Once we return home.”

“Oh?” His mouth went slack as her fingers wrapped around him and his brows furrowed in the way she loved, so she ducked to press a kiss between them. She twisted her wrist just so and he grew louder, “Y-yeah. We can do that.”

The weight of him in her hand, his fingers splaying out against her hip, the warmth seeping from his skin into hers. It all sought to ground her, despite racing thoughts and an unclear future. Despite Bran’s assurances that _all would lead them home_. They had now and each other, the former couldn’t last forever but the latter would if either of them had a say.

That was enough.

Arya pushed away to kick her breeches off and pull her smallclothes down, expecting him to do the same. Looking up from her legs, the sight of Gendry slumped slightly in his chair widened her grin. He was as flushed as he had been that day in the forge, though soot and sweat was nowhere to be seen. She missed the soot, even if he never completely lost the scent of smoke, and she made it her mission to see his skin shine again.

A forge wouldn’t be a bad addition either, if she could see to it that he still worked away at steel whenever he had the time. Not _just_ because it roused happy memories, she just knew he had and always would prefer smithing to any other trade.

“Like the view, do you?” He cracked one eye open, then the other, for the sight of a bare Arya was apparently just as enchanting to him. He sat up straighter and croaked, “Because you’d be in good company.”

“You’re softer than those hands of yours would suggest.” She said quietly and moved in to cup his jaw. Arya kissed him deeply, swiping along his bottom lip with her tongue before reaching down to tug his breeches past his knees.

“Yes, well…” Gendry’s response was forgotten as she sank down and they both moaned, the echoed result loud enough that Arya buried her face into his shoulder and laughed.

It was three rounds later, legs entangled, and bodies sweaty as Arya had wished, that he drew his thumb across her knuckles and asked her properly.


	5. we better make a start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations are made, a Lord says goodbye to Flea Bottom and Arya spends some time with her pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you might've noticed since my last update that there is an official chapter count!!! That is mostly my current guesstimate, but we shall see I suppose. I've enjoyed writing this so much and I cannot WAIT for you all to see what I have planned. 
> 
> As for this chapter, we are saying goodbye to King's Landing! Ain't that a TREAT. It has meant kinda rushing the whole ~organisation~ of their trip but I hardly thought anyone would mind when it meant there is some Sibling Banter and general Feels. If you enjoy this chapter, please let me know. Everyone's comments thus far have meant the world to me and are super encouraging on days where my muse isn't the best! Thank you as always for the support & love :)
> 
> I'd also love to see if anyone knows what I'm plotting... ;)

A title hadn’t made Gendry any less surly. In fact, Arya would wager it had only worsened his mood. While things between them had been nearing perfect, his title and name were both things that apparently meant he was the other Lords’ new favourite subject. Whenever he entered a room, they barraged him with questions. On Storm’s End, his time in Flea Bottom, smithing. The latter was the only topic to bring the barest hints of a smile to his face, but even then, it was weighed down by the person asking. Gendry tolerated very few people and while it didn’t surprise Arya in the slightest, she watched as others became quickly aware of that fact.

He was sullen, quick to temper, and more content beating steel than talking with highborns. If he had to do much more of it, the result might be irreparable.

Though the sooner they left, the better, there was planning to do. They didn’t have the ability to just run at first light so, instead, they waited. And in waiting they talked.

Perhaps the strangest thing about their time apart was that they still knew each other just as well, if not better than before. At times they understood one another’s pain and were willing to listen when they didn’t.

She knew of his time spent imprisoned by his uncle and he knew of the Wraith and the man they’d known as Jaqen. Arya found herself no more morose in the Red Woman’s passing after Gendry told of her abuse. He pressed a kiss to her temple as she told him how narrowly she’d avoided her own Red Death, a parade featuring her brother’s corpse years on capable of rendering her ill.

Gendry’s own face had paled, and he’d clutched at her all the tighter.

They shared their stories and shed some of the pain, in between the hours spent tentatively figuring out their next move.

Braavos was out of the question, neither needed to clarify that, and she felt his fingers ghost over the scars absently. In her heart of hearts, she knew that they would return to Winterfell eventually. That they should, with talk of rebuilding already beginning before Jon had even left the capital. She missed the snow terribly, could feel the tug of Nymeria in every wolf dream she’d had after the Long Night.

However, Arya wanted to feel the sun on her face, in a city that didn’t smell like death. She wanted to wade into clear water and eat fruit until the juice made her chin sticky.

She wanted to truly live before she settled into whatever the future held.

That meant figuring out just where their ship was to go.

“He frowns an awful lot.” Sansa saw that as a fitting greeting as she approached the table where Arya was studying a map.

Arya, Gendry and Davos, who’d spent much of his time in King’s Landing giving Gendry some much needed and often unsolicited advice, had taken to occupying the council chambers. It was one of the only untarnished rooms in the entirety of the Red Keep, and given the assembled council was presently too large to fit, they saw no issue with taking it for themselves.

Arya would also be remiss to say she knew much of Ser Davos besides what Gendry had told her, all as the semblance of a smile pulled at his mouth. Even when he was talking about his imprisonment at Stannis’ order, he’d had nothing but good things to say about the older man. For her, that was enough reason to entrust their planning with the man.

That morning they’d barely avoided another thrilling conversation with Lord Fossoway who, after having removed his head from his rear, had realised that the newly appointed Lord of Storm’s End might have something to offer. Gendry had been less than pleased to discover that the Fossoway seat of Cider Hall wasn’t that far from Storm’s End.

_“Another reason to run away.” He’d grumbled as they laid in bed, her hand resting over his heart._

_“I like Lord Fossoway no more than you do,” Arya had grinned, “But, I’m rather tired of running. Can we settle for something a bit more leisurely?”_

_Gendry had pursed his lips, feigning thought, before he broke out into the wide smile that seemed reserved for her alone. It never failed to warm her from head to toe._

_“For you?” He shifted to look at her, “Consider it done, m’lady.”_

Since then, Arya had been pouring over any map she could find. Meanwhile, the Onion Knight and Gendry had been talking quietly, which she knew wasn’t something to find comfort in. Davos must have said something Gendry didn’t like for the frown deepened, lines creasing his forehead as he crossed his arms.

“You should have seen him when we were children. He was even worse then, if you can believe it.” Arya offered her sister a small smile, gaze pulled back to Gendry as his fell on her.

“I’m not sure I can.” Sansa admitted as she pulled a chair out and sat beside Arya, “But, it’s hard to imagine you in all those years we lost.” She sounded sad and when Arya looked to her, she found Sansa’s eyes were misting up.

“I was shorter, dirtier…” Arya joked, “You’d have hated it.”

“I’m sure you are right.” Her sister conceded, before placing a gentle hand on Arya’s arm, “But when one has someone like Gendry by their side, I’m sure they could grow to manage.”

* * *

Flea Bottom and the Street of Steel were gone, Arya knew it firsthand. She also knew that Gendry had ridden through it his first day back in King’s Landing. Murmurs of the newly legitimised Lord arriving hadn’t been missed by Arya, who had admittedly been awaiting his first appearance. She hadn’t said goodbye, she hadn’t said hello either. Keeping to the shadows, Arya only watched him, taking in the lack of colour in his cheeks and the bleary-eyed glances he sent Davos.

It wasn’t until the Dragon Pit that he’d laid eyes on her again and so much had transpired since she hadn’t thought to mention the fact that his childhood home had been destroyed.

One morning, some days before they were due to begin their voyage, Gendry asked. Simply, while they broke their fast, and accompanied by a familiar gormless look that appeared when he was thinking hard. Arya found it no less amusing than she had when they were children, only now it was joined by a wave of affection.

“I want to see my home.” He said after swallowing a chunk of bread, “My old home. Or, what’s left of it.” His eyes flicked from his bowl to her, brows furrowed.

There was any number of reasons why they shouldn’t, the remaining preparations for their departure at the very forefront of Arya’s mind. But they had so little time left in the capital, it seemed appropriate that they should make the most of it.

She intended to say as much when Davos sat opposite them with a huff, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

“Morning.” He dunked thick bread into his bowl and eyed them both, “What does today have in store for us all?”

“I’m taking Gendry out for a walk.” Arya smiled, her hand moving to cover Gendry’s. “Then, I suppose more planning.”

They left the Red Keep after their meal, hand in hand, and wound their way down through the remaining debris. Arya’s chest felt tight as she recognised their route, her tunic already clinging to her back as she looked around. She worried that her food would climb its way back up her throat if she thought too much about before.

Half expecting screaming, fire, ash. The screams, a daughter choosing death with her mother over life without her.

Arya wondered if she’d have made the same choice if given the opportunity, if she had been with her mother and Robb that night. She’d never know though, and none of it came, not the smoke, not the anguish.

Gendry tugged her closer, his arm wrapping around her as they came to a stop.

“Tobho’s shop was here.” He said quietly, “I slept in a cot upstairs, outgrew it in my first moon with him. Things were normal. Until, Ned Stark came here one day and changed my life. Didn’t even know it at the time.”

She’d heard the story before, mere moments before she’d told him who she was. But it was different now. As with everything else, time had left a bittersweet tang to all memories. Even those that at the time meant nothing. Her father, meeting the boy who’d keep her safe when he couldn’t. If it were any other time, any other life, she’d swear their meeting was fated.

Instead, Arya just knew it was very good luck.

“I don’t know if Tobho died here.” Gendry’s voice wavered, “I hope not. He was good to me. Better than most.”

“I’m sorry.”

She couldn’t promise that Tobho was safe and it seemed unkind to pretend otherwise, but it seemed her embrace was enough because Gendry merely pressed a kiss to the top of her head before leading her on. Arya struggled to conflate the city she’d fled all those years ago with the one that now looked so barren. She couldn’t imagine how difficult it had to be for Gendry, who’d spent so many years on this very street.

It was only a few ruins along, as destroyed as the others, that he was met with a sight so unrecognisable that he paused. He looked about, scowling, and Arya recognised him, the boy who made bullies sing like the steel he knew best. It was as if he’d grown years younger in seconds, every bit the Bull as he chewed on his bottom lip.

His eyes had always looked brighter when he was angry, but this was different. He wasn’t angry so much as he was sad, the way his face crumpled almost immediately giving it away. When Gendry dropped her hand and moved closer, she followed.

“What was here?” She asked softly.

“My shop. The one I opened after Davos sent me off.” He stepped up and over into the worst of the rubble, hands hanging limply by his sides. “Spent all my time here, head down, working harder than ever. Gold cloaks were none the wiser.”

“Did you like it? Being back here… Safe, anonymous.”

When Gendry looked over his shoulder, Arya saw his eyes were watering. Much like Sansa’s had in the council chambers. It made her heart catch.

“No.” He said simply, “Because the cost of being back here, safe and completely unknown…”

He looked down then, his eyes closing as he sighed.

“It was thinking that you were dead. That I turned you away because I was scared.”

Arya moved to rest her hand against his back and her cheek against his arm, “We all do stupid things when we’re scared.”

“You don’t.” Gendry said, “You save the world.”

* * *

They had chosen Pentos for its sun and food, the markets and the music. There was no further place from the city of the dead, still and claustrophobic even when most of it had been reduced to cinders. Gendry had known very little about the city across the Narrow Sea, but he’d held no hesitation in trusting Arya’s assurances that it’d be perfect. The two days preceding their departure were spent in the company of her family, though it seemed it was quickly becoming just as much Gendry’s too.

Bran was the quietest, watching with something akin to fondness as they all talked. Sansa, unsurprisingly, had the best room of them all and that’s where they found themselves. A fire roared, the smell having left both Jon and Arya shaken as they first sat before it. Now it was barely given a second look.

Jon and Gendry shared stories of their time beyond the Wall, including Gendry’s lone adventure to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.

_"I ran and I ran..." Gendry had sighed, "And I ran. Davos was the one who found me."_

Arya found herself beside Sansa, each occupying half of a long seat they’d found tucked away in a corner. After cleaning the dust off and covering it in furs, the wood was almost comfortable. They, for the most part, avoided mentioning Sansa's own, nonexistent, plans to leave the capital. They all knew, even silently, why she wouldn't be leaving.

There was a vote to be held and Arya couldn't say she was surprised to know that her sister might well be the Queen when she returned.

On the night before she and Gendry left, they shuffled into Sansa’s room again, though without Gendry who had been summoned by Davos. For what, Gendry hadn’t shared, but he’d kissed Arya and sworn they’d retire to bed together all the same.

The moon hung high and the fire had waned somewhat, but the Starks found themselves still engaged in a lively conversation.

“What will be your first order as Lord of Winterfell, Lord Stark?” Sansa asked, a wry grin on her face.

Jon rolled his eyes and shifted from his place on the ground, looking younger than his twenty and three years. The tension in his shoulders was gone and dinner had done them all some good, leaving them content and dozy.

“Fixing the crypts.” He answered earnestly.

“Good.” Arya said, “Father’s nose wasn’t right.”

“I meant more the mess made by the dead.” Jon smiled up at Arya, “But I shall see to that too, little sister.”

“Thank you.” She grinned before clearing her throat, “What will your first order be as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Lady Sansa?”

Sansa guffawed and kicked out playfully, landing somewhere between Arya’s rear and the back of her knee.

“Oi!” Arya sat upright and narrowed her eyes, “Not fair.”

“Nor was that question.” Sansa’s cheeks were flushed bright pink and she refused to make eye contact.

“We know it’s the truth.”

“No, we do not!” Sansa hissed, “Bran, tell her!”

“I’m not one for entering arguments to which I have no hope of mending.” Bran smiled a little, looking between his sisters. “Nor do I have any real control over what will come to pass.”

Both sisters huffed, deflating quickly and resting back against their respective sides of the seat.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Arya murmured after a moment, eyeing Sansa cautiously. "I don't wish to fight before I leave."

“You didn’t.” Sansa shook her head, barely tousling the auburn hair around her shoulders. “I just… Find what lies ahead scary.”

“The future?” Jon asked before his voice quietened, “It’s no scarier than the past.”

“He’s right.” Bran shrugged, so slightly Arya couldn’t even be sure he’d moved. “We’ve faced too much to cower now.”

His words had a way of rendering them all speechless. For others it might have bred discomfort, but Arya found herself smiling.

“When did you become the wisest of us all, Bran?”

“Around the same time you decided to be Arya again.” He smiled right back.

_The lull in conversation and the furs covering her must have been comforting, for Arya found herself awaking to the press of lips to her forehead. When she opened one eye blearily, she was met with the sight of a smiling Gendry. He was crouching by her side, his doublet gone. A linen shirt was in its place and his hair was a bit longer, the beginnings of a beard covering his cheeks and chin._

_He looked happy. His cheeks were flush with colour, his eyes the brightest they’d ever been, and on his finger was a ring of steel, not silver._

_“I wouldn’t have woken you at all…” He rubbed her cheek with his thumb, “But, the Maester was worried.”_

_“The Maester?” Arya sat up and the furs fell away, the cold flooding in._

Arya’s eyes flew open and she looked around startled. The room had gone dark, the embers having died out. She’d kicked her furs off at some point and they lay on the ground where Gendry had been kneeling only moments earlier.

Except that hadn’t been Gendry.

“Arya?” Sansa’s voice cut through the dark, “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” She yawned, covering her mouth lazily, “I just feel as though I’ve forgotten something.”

“We’re packed, the ship is ready, and the crew was picked by Davos. We’re fine.”

She turned to see Gendry leaning in the doorway, still wearing his doublet, still with the shortest hair she’d ever seen on him. But, he looked just as happy as he had in her dream. If not a little sleepier. He walked into the room, stepping around Jon who’d fallen asleep too, and smiled.

“You, however, need rest, M’lady.” A large hand extended towards her and Arya thought nothing of grabbing it to stand up.

“Says you.” She retorted weakly, “You’ve been gone for hours.”

“Lordly duties, m’fraid.” He kissed her temple and pulled her close, “I’ll tell you about it on the way to bed.”

“Arya, Gendry.” Sansa said softly, sounding half asleep herself.

“Sleep well, Lady Sansa.” Gendry replied, lifting Arya into his arms easily despite her mumbled protests.

* * *

Sleep had evaded her for much of the night once they’d returned to their quarters, excitement and nerves making her stomach churn. She’d tossed and turned until Gendry’s arm had wound around her waist and pulled her back to his chest. Then, they’d talked until sleep took them both. It was the morning that had brought the most issues, however. Especially where the bullheaded man to her left was involved.

Now, he tore a chunk of bread in two, sullenly staring down at his bowl as he dunked one piece in the brown. It didn’t smell half bad to Arya, but she still eyed it warily as she sought out more bacon. Food was sparse, but she’d still eaten more there than she had in perhaps years. It seemed she wasn’t alone for everyone seemed content to eat their fill as opposed to idle conversation. Except the weary greetings and polite thanks, the Starks sat in silence.

Arya thanked the Gods for being merciful, but it seemed she was premature.

“Brown not quite what it used to be, lad?” Davos asked as he sat opposite them, lifting his own bowl to tentatively sniff at it.

“S’fine.”

Gendry’s tone betrayed him, as did the way his shoulders rose.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Gendry has only just remembered that sailing means we’ll be on the water.” Arya snorted, “It’s not as if I withheld that information.”

The man in question huffed, shoulders falling violently. “It’s not that I forgot, okay?”

“Of course not. You just happened to not remember until this morning and have been sulking ever since.” Arya rolled her eyes and grinned at Sansa, “My mistake.”

“At least you won’t be doing the rowing this time.” Davos smiled, lifting his cup.

That made Gendry’s scowl worsen, and Arya laughed so hard a mouthful went down the wrong way. That didn’t stop his hand from falling to her back as she heartily gulped at her water.

“You will write, won’t you?” Sansa asked once Arya could breathe again. “There’ll be so much going on here, I can scarcely believe you’ll be missing it all.”

It was all Arya could do not to roll her eyes, for the last thing she could imagine wanting was a part in the politics of King’s Landing. She’d had her say, it was now the people’s turn. With more people due to be arriving, she was grateful to know she’d be gone by nightfall.

“I’ll write.” She promised, “Though I’m not sure how prompt we’ll be. We anticipate the journey will take a week, should the weather permit.”

“A week and then you’ll be in the sun.” Jon mused in between bites, “Sure you won’t melt?”

“It’s sunny here.” Arya said, “I’m sure I’ll be just fine. What about you? When are you returning home?”

“Week’s end.” Jon smiled, “You’ll be writing me too, I imagine?”

“I’ll write you all, if you want it so badly.” Arya snorted, “Ser Davos? Would you like us to write?”

“Well, now that you mention it.” Davos rose an eyebrow and looked to Gendry, “You’ve not spoken?”

Arya frowned and looked up at Gendry, who had fallen awfully silent while Arya talked to her siblings. His cheeks were pink, and he nervously met her gaze, blinking rapidly.

“I was talking to Davos last night.”

“I know.” She tilted her head a little, “And?”

“Would you be able to teach me letters?” His voice dropped a little and he licked at his bottom lip nervously, “Numbers too. I know you’re good at those.”

The laugh bubbled up before she could stop it and at the startled look on his face, she leaned in to press a kiss to his arm.

“I will be able to.” She said, “But I’m by no means a patient teacher.”

“Never thought otherwise, m’lady.”

Arya poked his side hard and he jerked violently, his arm bumping into the nearest flagon and spilling water across the table.

“Arya!” Sansa called out, but there was no malice in her tone. 

* * *

Goodbyes were easiest when one knew they weren’t forever. They weren’t to be gone for long, for there’d come a time where Arya would grow weary of the sun and Gendry would be required to return. They both knew that Gendry had only satiated Davos’ need to know the future of Storm’s End for so long. While Gendry had made his feelings on the matter clear in private, neither of them felt particularly good in having kept Davos in the dark. He'd promised the older man that he'd learn his letters and numbers, which they intended to make good on, but there was so much uncertainty surrounding what being a Lord could mean for him. He didn't want it, but he'd gotten it all the same. Each day presented new positives but also a number of negatives to each decision. They just hoped that Gendry’s mind would be clearer by the time they found themselves in Westeros again.

“I’m going to miss you.” Sansa squeezed her tightly, as her chin came to rest on Arya’s shoulder.

Arya smiled and squeezed right back, “I’ll miss you too. More than I ever thought I would.”

When Sansa pulled back, her eyes were shining and Arya grabbed her hands gently.

“Imagine the stories you’ll be coming back with.” Sansa said quietly, "Happier stories."

“I doubt you won’t have a few of your own.”

Sansa ducked her head and laughed, “I think I’m rather done with stories for the time being. Happy or not.”

“You say that now.” Arya squeezed Sansa’s hands, “And what of songs?”

Her sister scoffed, despite the colour flooding her cheeks, “Arya…” Then she sobered, adding softly, “Be safe.”

Arya nodded her thanks, smiling at her sister warmly before she moved to Bran.

“You aren’t scared.” He said, looking up at her. 

She had expected fear of the unknown and her future to make an appearance. It had happened before, doubt leading to confusion and her fleeing before she could say yes to something that would change her life. However, now, it was giddiness that made her bounce on her heels. Adventuring with Gendry was something she couldn't have anticipated on that morning he rode into Winterfell, yet there they were. She couldn't have even forseen it the day of the Dragon Pit, when they'd both been exchanging glances hoping the other would say _anything_ to repair what had been broken. 

Arya didn't know what her future held, no more than she had then. But she trusted it to be good so long as Gendry was involved. 

Bran seemed to know as much.

“Not in the slightest.” She grinned, ducking to press a kiss to his forehead. “What of you? Seen anything I _should_ be scared of?”

“Nothing you cannot handle.” Bran reached out and gently grabbed her hand, “You’re stronger than you think.”

The gesture was so unlike the Bran that they’d all silently worried was a permanent fixture. But, the cold withdrawn exterior was fading bit by bit. The eventual return of the brother they all loved and missed was enough to breed hope.

However, his words made Arya pause and she frowned, “Oh?”

"You've faced death, Arya. Many times over. Yet, that's not what scares you." He smiled and nodded, letting her hand go before he looked to Gendry as he talked animatedly with Davos and Jon. “Neither of you can fail so long as the other is there. Remember that.”

She looked down at Bran, her brows knitted as she considered his words. “I will. Be safe, little brother. Okay?”

“We will all be safe now.” He answered softly, "As will those who follow."

Arya smiled despite her confusion and patted his shoulder once, turning to approach where the remainder of her pack stood.

“I’ve got weapons aboard.” Gendry was in the midst of talking when he looked to her and beamed, dressed from head to toe in new clothes. Gloves of dark orange covered his hands and the doublet he'd found in his things that morning suited him. All of it did really. While Arya hadn't intended to match, if the gold of her cloak happened to match the filagree detailing on his doublet, she didn't think it a bad thing. 

“Weapons?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. “Expecting trouble, m’lord?”

“Nothing like that.” He smiled, “They’re for trade. Jon and Davos thought it a good idea, after all we're a Stark and a Baratheon arriving in a new city after years of war. A peace offering can't be a bad start." 

“Pentos is built on trade.” Davos interjected, "We'll be doing a lot of that from now on if we can ever hope to rebuild."

"And here I thought this trip was for us." Arya smiled, scrunching her nose up a little as Davos held a hand out to her. She eyed it before stepping closer to envelop him in a tight hug.

He let out a small note of surprise before she felt a large hand pat her back affectionately. He hugged like any good father should and tears pricked her eyes, though she stubbornly tried to blink them away. 

“Thank you.” She murmured, “For everything. But, mostly for bringing him back.”

“The honour was mine, Lady Stark.”

Arya pulled away and wiped at her eyes awkwardly before smiling. “Arya, please.”

Davos nodded and patted her arm, “Aye. Safe travels, Arya.”

She heard Jon sniff and she turned to find him watching on tearily, his hair falling wildly around his face. Arya scarcely thought it through before she threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck.

“If you need anything,” She managed, “Write me. Please. I will come right back.”

Jon’s arms slid around her, and he hugged her tightly to his chest, budging not even an inch despite her weight pressing against him.

“You will do no such thing.” He laughed, “Not after everything.”

She was quiet for a moment before she mumbled, “Fine.”

“You will tell me all about your adventures and I will enjoy them from the North.”

“And you will tell me all about the North in return.”

“I can wager which will be more interesting.”

* * *

The water was calm, and the breeze was cool as Arya lifted her chin to the sun. It had risen high as they saw King's Landing begin to disappear and the heat had come with it. Gendry had quickly shed his cloak and gloves, then eventually his doublet too. She’d followed soon after, their clothes abandoned below deck. Neither had seen much point in packing the thicker clothes, but Bran had insisted that they might need them after all.

For all his secrets, he hadn’t seemed willing to clarify even one so insignificant as what they needed to pack.

Not that Arya minded too much when it meant Gendry standing beside her in a thin tunic, looking out to the sea and smiling.

“Hey.” Gendry spoke and Arya straightened, looking at him. His face was a little pale and she grabbed his arm.

“I _knew_ I forgot something.” She said exasperatedly, “You insisted we were fine and yet –”

He laughed and he shook his head, leaning in to pluck a loose thread from Arya’s shoulder. It dangled from between his finger and thumb before he let it go. Then, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, he pulled her into him.

“There.” He winked, “Perfect.”

“Stupid.” She huffed, burying her face into his chest.

“And I’m all yours.” He teased, to which he earned a pinch to his side and yelped.


	6. aside: wolves & stags, friends indeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief sidestep to Pentos, where news of Arya & Gendry's impending arrival is recieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, it's been a while, hasn't it? I'm so sorry for vanishing, it's been a messy couple of months. I've been ill (shoutout to the Australian bushfires for all the smoke) and then Nanowrimo was upon me and I had to focus on my original work for a bit. All that aside, I wanted to dive back into this as soon as possible. My muse proved a frustrating roadblock but finally, here is a small taste of what is to come. 
> 
> Pentos hospitality will prove to be interesting for our kiddos and as much as I loathed to update after so long with something that isn't Gendrya centric, I thought what better way to establish what is to come! Please enjoy x

As Arya and Gendry settled in for their trip to Pentos, the city’s own Prince Gaemon sat in his chambers unaware, with no more than mulled wine and his lover for company. He thought nothing of spending his days lounging here and there, in his featherbed and out in the sun, while the magisters sought out the best for his city. Merchants were pleased and trade was thriving, with many thanks heaped upon the young Prince and the lengths he’d gone to with appeasing R’hollor. Gaemon had never seen Pentos so lively, not even as a child, and for that he found his ego all the more satiated. 

He was blissfully ignorant of the dead who’d marched on Winterfell across the sea, had no cares for the many lost in the war of Kings. He was content, safe, and best of all happy. He’d not long been Prince, having disposed of the previous with the encouragement of the people and council alike, but in that time, he’d seen the city blossom. 

His peace was short-lived, however, as just as he sought out the lips of his beloved, his chamber doors were suddenly flung open. There stood a flushed, panting magister, clutching parchment to his chest. 

“Your Grace.” The magister bowed violently, his name on the tip of Gaemon’s tongue but refusing to make itself known. He cared little for the council, though they did what work he cared not to do. Besides the meetings he was expected to attend, the Prince did his best to avoid them all as best he could. 

It seemed that the council had ideas to the contrary. 

“What troubles grant me the pleasure of your company, Magister?” The prince drawled, smiling mischievously to his companion as he plucked a grape from her delicate fingers. “I’d have thought council would assemble a meeting for anything too dire.” 

The magister was still short of breath as he moved closer, averting his gaze as Gaemon made no effort to cover himself. 

“We’ve only just been alerted ourselves. A raven came, you see, from Westeros. More importantly, King’s Landing.” 

“What use do I have of Westerosi gossip?” Another grape, this time tossed into the air and caught in his mouth, “Moreover, what of it begs you to distract me from my business at such an early hour?” 

“Daenerys Targaryen has conceded defeat, Your Grace. Sailed off with her army and her dragon, it is said that a new leader is being... elected, of all things.” 

“The Mother of Dragons means nothing to me. Nor do the democratic whims of a place I’ve never set foot in.” He eyed the Magister apathetically, “Pentos’ involvement in Westeros, in their petty quarrels, ended with my predecessor. Which I seem to recall is part of why new leadership was sought in the first place.” 

“Yes, of course. Except...” 

“Except?” Gaemon held up his hand as more grapes were offered to him, “Except what?” 

“Except a Stark girl and a Baratheon compatriot are making their way to Pentos as we speak. A trader watched on as they were bid farewell and saw fit to notify us immediately.” 

At that, Gaemon straightened, his nostrils flared. 

“Pardon?” 

He knew both names, for no interest of his own, but the stories that were spread by traders and noblemen alike. He knew of Robert Baratheon, large and oafish, who’d met his perhaps deserved end a fair few moons earlier. Gaemon had been only a child when he’d passed, but he still heard the glee with which some delivered the news to one another. He’d also heard word of the Stark, the King’s Hand whose demise had quickly followed, of the son and wife who’d eventually perished too. Westeros had seemingly seen no end to war, with even Pentos playing a part, in no more than housing some involved. 

But Pentos had no need for bloodshed now, no use for a diplomatic visit to placate foreigners. Gaemon would certainly not have his own throat slit for the whims of strangers, that much he knew. 

“It is said they aren’t travelling for trade, nor political means, but I urge you to practice caution upon their arrival.” The magister continued, sparing not a glance to the Prince’s stormy expression. 

“Caution?” Gaemon hissed, “Amongst wolves and stags, I’d think of nothing else. Do you take me for a fool?” 

“Not at all, Your Grace.” 

“Then I’d ask that you temper yourself before questioning my approach in the future.” He paced slowly about the room, only pausing to eye his company closely as he added slowly, “If it’s as they say and there is no ulterior motive, I cannot see a fault in ensuring the good will between our city and Westeros.” 

“Which is to say?” 

“There _is_ no saying if a new king or queen will fancy themselves a diplomat or an enemy, but this Stark and the Baratheon may be our way of ensuring Pentos’ future in the wake of Westeros’ shakiness.” 

“You wish to treat them as guests?” 

“If they arrive and show no immediate threat, yes. I will not have my city put to ruin for some presumed slight.” He paused again, pressing his fingers to his lips, “They will find only friends here, understood?” 

The magister’s brows raised but he nodded nonetheless, “I will alert the council and make necessary arrangements.” 

He fled, pulling the doors shut tight behind him, leaving Gaemon to stroke his chin thoughtfully. 

“Do you expect trouble, my love?” asked his beloved from their bed, her voice a welcome distraction from his worries. 

His face brightened suddenly, as if a pleasant thought or exciting idea had struck him, and he turned to face her as he approached the bed. 

“Not at all.” He cooed, petting her hair, all as his mouth lifted into a grin, “In fact, I expect only good will come from all of this.” 

“How so?” 

“What Pentoshi will be able to resist the sight of a war hero? Two no less!” Gaemon grinned, pressing a kiss to her head, “I imagine we will have quite the celebration on our hands if things go well, and you know how I love a good party.” 


	7. sun, salt & him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day at sea, softness and letters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do need to get better at updating to a schedule, but alas.
> 
> Thank you to all who continue to read, thank you for all your comments & kudos as always. Originally this was going to be much longer, but honestly... I love it being shorter & sweet. I do promise some steamy times ahead though, and some more revelations.
> 
> Happy reading!

That first afternoon at sea was a beautiful day by all accounts and Arya relished in the warmth on her face and beneath her feet. They’d both decided to roll up their sleeves and pull off their boots as King’s Landing faded from sight, moving about the deck and talking with the crew, though Gendry hadn’t participated in the latter all that much. 

The further away they were from the Red Keep, the more it began to feel like old times, right down to the way in which Gendry sullenly watched on as Arya engaged the crew in conversation. Without Davos’ guidance, Gendry was quieter, his brows knitted as he stared out across the sea. They’d never been at sea together, but it all felt right, normal. When they did talk, they bickered good-naturedly. Gendry had argued with her for over an hour on her suggestion that they sailing west next, claiming that he’d rather row right back to Lord Fossoway for another thrilling discussion on Westeros’ future than do so. She argued right back that he had no sense of adventure, to which he’d gesticulated pointedly around, looking as if he’d lost all of his senses. Arya had laughed herself silly and Gendry had rolled his eyes until they were tired, a comfortable silence steadily taking place. 

For a while Arya thought she might’ve upset him, for the tight grip he had on the railing made his knuckles white. But the pallid pallor of his skin and the slight sheen of sweat across his forehead gave it away. 

“The sea suits you.” He finally caught her staring and smiled softly, shielding his face from the sun with one hand, as a flash of dimples made her heart swoop. 

_“He only smiles when you’re around.” Sansa had murmured one night in the midst of pouring them both some wine, something Arya had only taken to in the days where water was still a gamble. “I’d never have thought he did, with all the scowling, and then...”_

_Arya rolled her eyes, “Sansa...”_

_“I swear it!” She’d grinned, nudging Arya in the side as Gendry was finally freed from another dreary conversation with another Lord. His shoulders were low and he blinked sleepily, shifting from one foot to the other._

_In the walls of the Keep Arya could see as Gendry swung between impatience and grumpiness, though most were oblivious to it. He was curt, but not entirely impolite, though that was more a credit to Davos and his stern glances than to a sudden change in Gendry’s personality._

_“It’s nothing.” Arya insisted, “You’re just bored.”_

_As if planned, Gendry had then looked up from his feet and sought Arya out with his eyes, ignorant to the way her face warmed as his face lit up. He made his way across the room, stubbornly avoiding Fossoway who looked ready to lecture him on the benefits of lordship for the third time in so many days._

_“I told you.” was Sansa’s only comment from behind her goblet, grinning as Gendry sat heavily to Arya’s left and sought out her hand beneath the table._

_If she weren’t so damn happy, she’d have been more annoyed._

“Does it?” She asked, noting the way he flinched as the deck rocked beneath their feet, “I’m not sure I can say the same of you.” 

He huffed a laugh and moved closer, his colour or lack thereof even more apparent as she looked up at him, “I think rowing away from the Red Woman all those years ago killed any potential love I might’ve had for the sea.” 

“Either that or you’re already sick of my company, m’lord.” Arya grinned, raising an eyebrow. 

Gendry frowned, “Never.” 

“I’m _joking_.” She wound her arms around his waist, “You have no sense of humour.” 

“I have no sense at all, boarding a boat heading towards a place I’ve never been to.” He grumbled, though his eyes twinkled as he looked down at her. 

“Robbed you of sense, have I?” 

“Maybe.” He smiled, “You certainly are crafty enough.” 

The ship rocked again and Gendry squeezed his eyes shut, his grip on her tightening. 

She stifled a laugh and grabbed his hand gently, “If you need to go lie down, I won’t take offense.” 

“We’ve not been at sea a day and I’m already terrible company.” He sighed, turning his head to rest his cheek against her head. 

“You’ve _always_ been terrible company. Sea, land, it’s all the same.” 

He exhaled dramatically, “Arya.” 

“No, it’s fine.” She smiled up at him and squeezed his hand, “Go sleep it off, I’ll sit up here and bask some more.” 

“Bask?” Gendry scoffed, pressing a kiss to her cheek, the returning stubble across his chin scraping against her skin pleasantly. “I’ve never known you to bask.” 

“You’ve never known me to do many things, Lord Baratheon.” 

He let out an unamused huff and eyed her as he moved away, “Too late to turn back?” 

“Much too late.” 

“Shame.” His lips twitched and he paused just before the stairs below, “You’ll be okay?” 

“More than. I’ll come down when I’m hungry, then maybe we can start on your letters.” 

“I eagerly await your presence, Lady Stark.” He bowed stiffly and winked at her, before letting out a bark of laughter as her eyes narrowed. He disappeared down the stairs before she could retort. 

* * *

In the days since the burning, Arya had certainly fallen into easier habits, not unlike those which had preceded the death of her father. She was eating properly again, sleeping through the night, and she had stopped jumping at every single loud noise. But it began to sink in, with the aid of her aching joints in quiet moments like this, that Arya’s exceedingly good luck may well run out if she wasn’t careful. 

Below deck slept Gendry, scarred and as tired as her, but alive and well. Back in King’s Landing Jon would be deep in preparations to return home, Sansa would spend every day getting that much closer to accepting her future and Bran was becoming more like himself with every breath. The ash had settled, they could rebuild, things were okay. 

All would remain okay until she returned home. 

All had to. 

Arya could breathe for the first time in many years. 

* * *

“M’lady?” 

She turned at the sound of a voice that wasn’t Gendry’s and found herself joined by the captain, a man who’d been vouched for by Davos himself. He had dark, silver streaked braids and his sandy skin was covered in colourful ink. Returning to Pentos as it was, he’d seen no issue with taking on two more, especially when the request had been accompanied by such a generous fee. From how the crew interacted, with all of the laughter and conversation having met her ears in the hour since Gendry had retired, Davos’ judgement had been correct. 

“Allus, yes?” She asked quietly, blinking away the heaviness of her eyes. The sun and gentle sway of the ship had equal responsibility in her sleepiness, to the point where she wondered if Gendry had the right idea. 

“Yes, m’lady.” The man smiled, his weathered face brightening in a way that in turn made Arya’s mood lighten. 

Her discomfort at the title, or more, the supposed responsibilities prescribed to it still pricked at her skin. The only man allowed to call her as such without fear of _serious_ repercussions was fast asleep below deck. But as she’d come to learn in the days since Gendry’s drunken declaration, she was becoming less perturbed by it. If only because she knew there were none of those expectations, not from those who mattered, nor those who had a say in what she did and how. 

She still felt odd for it, though, and as she had with Davos that morning, “Please, Arya is fine.” 

“Of course.” He bowed his head and smiled, “I hope the journey thus far has been kind.” 

“Kinder to me than to my... Lord Gendry, it’d seem.” Arya smiled good naturedly, “But I’m sure his spirits will improve the closer we get to Pentos. I’ve been told the journey should take no longer than a week, is that correct?” 

“Should the weather permit, less than.” 

“Wonderful.” Arya nodded, looking back out to the sea. 

Allus looked as if he were going to leave her, but then his brows furrowed and he sighed. “As for our reception in Pentos?” 

“I’m told Prince Gaemon will be expecting our arrival, nobody so much as mentions his city without him knowing about it. Whether or not he’ll take it well is anyone’s guess.” Arya wasn’t so naïve as to think things would be smooth for all parties, after all there’d been no shortage of tension between Westeros and the Free Cities. “Recent events, I daresay, will have rocked the boat some.” 

“Do you have a plan should his reaction be less than ideal?” Allus asked, sounding so much like Davos that her lips twitched. “At the very least, should we prepare for the worst?” 

“We have gifts to placate him and not a political bone between us.” Arya shrugged, biting her lip, “But, best we do, I suppose.” 

“I’ll talk to the crew and see what can be organised. I don’t suppose those weapons you brought aboard are just gifts?” 

Arya grinned then, “Gifts _and_ a very stern reminder, Davos thought it wise to be prepared either way.” 

“May the Gods help anyone who hasn’t heard the stories by now.” 

“I’m not sure I catch your meaning.” Her grin widened as she looked up at him, warmed by the fact that he returned it easily. 

* * *

Lunch saw a still half-asleep Gendry discovering that he didn’t _hate_ fish, all while the colour slowly returned to his face. He’d slept heavily, so heavily in fact that he had still been unconscious when Arya had made her way into their chambers. If his hair weren’t so short, she had no doubts it’d have stood on all ends. Stirring only when she began to unpack her things, he’d looked around confusedly before more rocking brought him to and he spent the better part of twenty minutes grumbling. 

When finally, they’d decided to set up some of their provisions at the small table their chambers afforded, he had at least stopped dwelling on his poor start to the journey. Arya stole chunks of his bread as he pretended not to notice and she saw the tension in his shoulders ease. He looked the best he had in hours, colour returning and frown easing, and she thanked every star in the night’s sky. 

“Feeling better?” She murmured finally as he wiped at his mouth, her hand coming to rest over his. 

“Much.” Blue met grey and Gendry smiled easily, the tension from earlier gone. 

“Do I have the nap or the food to thank?” 

“Both.” His smile widened and he turned his hand to intertwine their fingers, “Though, I’d prefer if we didn’t take that as an excuse for more fresh air, at least not tonight.” 

“That’s fair.” Arya nodded, “We can do something else. Letters? Davos will want proof of our studies, and soon, I’m sure.” 

Gendry’s mouth twisted and he exhaled through his nose, before finally nodding reluctantly. 

He preferred learning numbers to letters it turned out, the latter of which he found confusing and in one particular moment of frustration, _fucking irritating._ While he was persistent, Arya couldn’t say she felt any better for having spent their first day at sea arguing with him. 

“Why is it a y if my name is Gendry? Shouldn’t it be two e’s?” His head was in his hands and he readily ignored the parchment that laid between them. 

Arya sighed and closed her eyes, “It should be, but it’s not. It’s a y. G-e-n-d-r-y.” 

Gendry sat up a little and mouthed along, his brows knitted. 

“Watch, here…” She rubbed his back until he looked up, returning to the parchment. She wrote slowly, though it had little effect on her cramped, messy script. “See?” 

“G-e-n-d-r...” He huffed and added, “ _Y.”_

“Yes.” Arya nodded, pushing the parchment closer to him again, ignoring the way he looked ready to toss it across the room. One would think it had personally insulted him with the way he glared at it. “Just try? Please.” 

“You used to learn all of this as a child?” He asked as he conceded and took the quill from her, “How did you not go spare?” 

“I did, many times.” She smiled slightly, “It was another thing Septa Mordane took great issue with. I loved numbers, even though I never did things the way she wanted to, I still tried. As for letters...” 

“You were a right nightmare, weren’t you?” Gendry was grinning down at the parchment as he started to shakily copy her writing, “I can see it now. Little Arry tearing around, the Septa chasing you about in circles.” 

“I’ll have you know, Lord Baratheon, I only ran off a few times.” Arya replied loftily and raised her chin, “One of those times was after I’d poured ink down the back of Sansa’s dress and Septa Mordane screamed half of Winterfell down trying to find me.” 

“Ink?” His brows shot up, “I’m sure that was well received.” 

“I was sent to bed with no supper and Septa Mordane had me write lines until my fingers were sore the next morning.” She looked at him, “I might take a page from her book, if you aren’t careful.” 

“I bloody knew learning with you was a bad idea.” Gendry said before, “I’m not quite so stupid as to think I’d get away with that, even if I am frustrated.” 

“Good.” Arya laughed, “And I’m not quite so stubborn as to not let you have a break, should you need it.” 

“Oh?” Gendry’s face lit up hopefully and he eyed her, “What kind of break?” 

“The kind that will only happen if you keep practicing.” 

“Fine.” He scowled down at the parchment again and Arya shook her head, leaning back against the pillows with an amused smile. 

* * *

Gendry had been quiet for so long Arya had wondered if he were asleep again. With their stomachs full, their heads full of letters and the ship steady, she couldn’t fault him. In his arms, she felt comfortable. Better yet, she felt safe. He’d always run warm, something that had served them both well when most nights were spent sleeping in the rain, and she now found herself unable to rest if he wasn’t heating up the bed with his sheer presence. It was easy to doze off and even easier to wake up knowing that Gendry was right beside her, again, as he should be. 

“Do you think we’ll be remembered for something good?” He asked suddenly, his chin resting atop her head. His fingers were ink stained and intertwined with hers, his thumb running along the back of her hand slowly. 

It was the small things like that which encouraged Sansa’s knowing smiles, the kind of thing that made her soften in ways she’d been so averse to. Until she’d experienced them. 

Now she found she couldn’t get enough. 

“Good in our eyes or in those who read about us?” She asked in return, stretching slightly in his embrace. “Because we’ve a few dead between us that might argue against either.” 

Pies came to mind. As did those who she’d killed before, in a world across the sea. For once, her chest didn’t tighten and her stomach remained calm, even when she thought of a young girl, scared and wanting justice.

_The night she’d told him of the Frey’s and their fate, she'd waited nervously as his brows had knitted and he looked at her._

_He’d not even blinked, instead choosing to down the rest of his drink and smile sadly._ _“You never stopped, did you? To rest? Not even for a minute.”_

"Those who were already dead don't mean a damn and...” Gendry’s voice quietened now, as if he knew where her mind had wandered to, and he tightened his hold on her, “Suppose they all deserved it, didn’t they?” 

Her lips quirked at that and she shifted to press a kiss to his bare arm, “Suppose they did. What do you _hope_ to be remembered for?” 

Gendry hummed, “I should’ve expected that.” She felt his chin lift from her head and she looked up to see that he was chewing on his lip. “Smithing?” 

“Smithing.” Arya repeated dryly, “Anything else?” 

“I guess that’s what I’ve been thinking about. For all the talk of Storm’s End and not wanting it...” 

“You’re back to thinking it might be a good idea?” 

She felt him shift and his arms fell away from her as he laid on his back, gaze fixed on the ceiling. 

“It’s not a good idea, not in the slightest.” He said softly, “I’m not much of a Lord, but I still feel like I can do something. Can’t I? Even if it’s just seeking out someone better, someone who can lead and listen to what the people need.” 

“And I’m not much of a Lady, Gendry. But we’re here.” Arya propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him, “Same can’t be said for most, can it?” 

“No, it can’t.” Gendry sighed, “But I keep talking myself in circles and Davos isn’t much help. That night you were with Sansa, Bran and Jon; he spent telling me all I have to do when we get back. I went from a bastard with not even a bastard’s name, to a Lord with the name of a king. Hells, the name of three kings.” 

“Three kings who did no good for anybody but themselves most of the time.” She corrected, “You aren’t a king, you’re not _the_ king, thank the Old Gods _and_ the New, but you can still do good. We both can.” 

“How?” 

“We can start by getting to Pentos and not dying the second we leave this ship.” Arya smiled, “Then from there, we’ll figure it out. Even if it means Storm’s End is left in Davos’ capable hands for a little longer than originally planned.” 

“I’m sure he’ll love that.” 

“We’ll make it up to him.” She laid her hand over his and squeezed, “Is that all that’s bothering you? Because, in truth, you’re still twice the lord most of those in the Dragon’s Pit are, just by the sheer fact that you aren’t insufferable. If it’s any consolation.” 

“Perhaps I should start eating more soft cheeses and wanking on about how awfully important I am.” Gendry smiled slowly, “I’ll feel more like I belong then.” 

“Don’t you dare. I refuse to be all by myself in not belonging.” 

He laughed brightly and brought her wrist to his lips so he could kiss the soft skin below her palm, “I would never.” 

“You say that now.” She teased, “How do I know you won’t change your mind once you get a taste of lordship?” 

“If I do, I give you full permission to string me up and leave me there until I come to my senses.” 

“Noted.” Arya looked at him then, half expecting tension around his eyes at the thought of being tied up again, but instead he was smiling softly. “What is it?” 

He shook his head and cupped her cheek in one roughened hand, the smile widening, “I don’t hate the sea so much with you here. I can’t really hate much at all when you’re around.” 

Arya knew then that even if they arrived to a full army in Pentos, with an angry Prince directing them, she would be okay. 


	8. author’s note.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i’m sorry. thank you for all your support over the months, it has meant a lot.

author’s note: so. i’ve had half a chapter sitting there for a while now and i just. couldn’t figure out why it wasn’t coming to me. why the words were just stuck. why i didn’t feel motivated to write THIS when i have a few other unrelated wips sitting there.

but after a lot of thinking, my time dabbling in the got fandom as an active creator is done. if you know me, you know why - but i’m tired. the toxicity and harassment i’ve received for having perfectly reasonable discomfort re: certain parts of this fandom has become too much. i no longer care to create for got/asoiaf and as much as it saddens me, it’s been coming for a while now.

i’m so sorry to those who were awaiting updates and continued to encourage me during my greatest bouts of writer’s block. thank you to my fellow gendrya writers for your continued love & for sharing your own talent with us all. your fics made the bleakest days that much brighter for me, in a way i don’t think i could ever articulate. x


End file.
